


The Key to a Happy Life

by Some_Impossible_Fairytale



Category: Jurassic World (2015)
Genre: Angst, Awkward Flirting, Claire and Owen need to use their words, Dancing round feelings much, Explosions, F/M, Fluff, Language, Mild Language, Mutual Pining, New Relationship, Nightmares, Owen is a complete goner, Post-Island, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sexual Tension, Sharing a Bed, calling each other out, flirting over massages, idek, more tags to come probably
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-16
Updated: 2016-01-02
Packaged: 2018-04-04 16:50:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 27,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4145313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Some_Impossible_Fairytale/pseuds/Some_Impossible_Fairytale
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>'We better stick together. For Survival' </p><p>Two months after 'the Incident' as they'd taken to calling it on Isla Nublar, Owen and Claire are working (and living) together to clear up the aftermath of the disastrous event that happened at Jurassic World. Tracking down Dr. Henry Wu and his priceless (patented) research, dealing with the idiots at Corporate and trying to work out what surviving together means for them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Difficulty with Consultations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I saw Jurassic World the other day and I just loved it! Owen in particular and I wished that there was more Owen x Claire. This kinda popped into my head, whilst reading Owen x Claire and I wanted to contribute. The ones I have read were all lovely but when this came to me I wanted to focus a little further down the line on these two and see them when it’s calmed down a little and they’ve acclimatised to each other. Rated teen because I’m not sure where this is going and it could up to mature later. We’ll see!

Claire leaned back in her chair from where she’d been hunched over her desk and ran a hand through her glossy red hair, huffing a sigh through her teeth. Despite everything that had happened on Isla Nublar two months ago, Corporate were demanding that she complete her fill of the paperwork. With the death of Mr Masrani, the disappearance of Dr. Wu and the complete failure of Victor Hoskins, that son of a bitch, and his secret security operations, Claire as former park operations manager had been forced into doing more than her fair share of the workload. Press coverage, severage packages, compensation, not to mention trying to find out anything about what Corporate were planning on doing about containing the animals or whatever was going on. All they’d tell her was that it was ‘in hand’. That was all they’d tell anyone if the news coverage was to be believed. Claire had spent enough time within the corporate world to understand that the company would never recover from this. Never mind re-opening or any of that trash, the suits she’d been forced to bow and scrape to for so long were dead in the water. Claire, lauded as the ‘saviour of Jurassic World’, alongside Owen, was untouchable thanks to the coverage. Even though neither she, nor Owen had yet disclosed the details of what had happened in those last few hours at the Park, everyone knew of their leading roles in the evacuation and take down of the Indominus Rex.

 _Owen._ Claire couldn’t help the smile that tugged at her lips when she thought of the ‘badass’ ex-Marine. It had turned out that, after they’d walked out into the sunlight from the warehouse where everyone was being looked after he didn’t really have anywhere to go. It was terribly sad really, Owen was a bit of a lone wolf for someone who thrived so much in a pack. Whereas Claire had maintained a house off the island in Los Angeles, Owen had sold his apartment after being recruited and hence had no-where to go. Given their vow to stick together, ‘for survival’ Claire had insisted that he move in with her and would brook no argument on the matter. Whilst she was still entangled in the mess of making sure all the survivors and victims’ families were taken care of, Owen had taken a job at the Los Angeles zoo, just to help pay his share of the bills whilst he trained up new recruits in order to assist with Island containment. Owen would never let them exterminate the animals, not with Blue still alive. The island was their world now, these forgotten creatures who had found themselves treated as circus attractions from the minute they had stepped into the sun once more, after millions of years. Leaning back in her chair, head tipped to the sky with her eyes closed, Claire only realised someone was nearby when she heard a familiar clink as something was placed on the desk. Opening her eyes she jumped at the sight of Owen himself looming over her, mug in hand. He grinned at the way her beautiful eyes widened at the sight of him, a charming unguarded smile, like that of unrepentant schoolboy which she had seen rarely before, first on their ill fated first date, so long ago and happily, more regularly after the Incident, as she called it, as they began to find their feet once more. Together. Inhaling deeply revealed the tantalisingly promising scent of freshly brewed coffee and sure enough, a quick glance down showed the cup waiting for her, where Owen had put it down. Far more intoxicating still was the uniquely, slightly spicy musk that was entirely Owen.She smiled up at him “Thank you”

“Welcome. I, uh, didn’t mean to scare ya” he apologised. He seemed almost bashful which was the most adorable thing she’d ever seen. The guy could face down Raptors without blinking but he turned into a charming gentleman when they were alone together. Which, over the past two months had happened with increased regularity. At first she hadn’t been able to shake Karen or the boys, whom she adored and FaceTimed everyday, faithfully keeping her promise to never let them out her sight as long as they were alive, but she was a grown woman and she needed time to process what she’d been through. Alone. _Well_ , she took in the stupidly handsome face before her, _not too alone. I’m a pack animal too._ She had missed having a family around her, it had been a long time since she’d woken up next to someone.

God but she wanted him. Wanted to kiss him, feel those strong, agile hands around her waist again, the teasing scrape of his stubble on her skin. Yet since their kiss on the island...not a damn bean. She was starting to think that when he’d said they should stick together, he had meant as friends. She’d been so sure...nobody had ever kissed her like that, heat and passion and surety. Despite the chaos surrounding them, time had stopped. For a few precious minutes she’d felt completely safe in his arms. But... the kiss had been a thank you borne of adrenalin which is why he’d barely touched her since they came back. Maybe he didn’t want her after all. This couldn’t be further from the truth. Owen wanted alright. Maybe a little too much. But he thought that he’d spent a little too much time living in his bungalow on the edge of the park, absorbed too much animosity from his Hatchlings. That kiss had been borne of relief and gratitude sure but it had also been desire. This beautiful, fiery woman had spent the day running round in heels trying to save lives, find her nephews and she’d just shot a dinosaur for him. Hell yes he wanted her. But he was ex-military, rough and trigger happy whereas Claire deserved gentle surety. She deserved to be romanced. So Owen wanted to work on making sure he could give her what she needed.

Essentially, they were idiots.

It was then that Owen spotted the folders and dozens of papers scattered on the glass worktop. Ignoring the urge to knock the coffee cup all over the damn files, Owen instead walked around so that he was facing her properly and leaned across to her, large hands palms down over them instead. “Claire. Enough” he looked down at the paperwork pointedly “You gotta stop with this. We said we’d stick together, survive together and I can’t take care of you if you don’t help out a little by taking care of yourself first. You’ve been sat here for at least 3 hours straight. You gotta have a reprieve, relax a little” a charming smirk suddenly bloomed across his features ‘relinquish control’ It took Claire a few seconds to realise he was flirting with her, she was still processing the concern in his eyes, the way he ‘wanted to take care of her’. There were several ways he could take care of her actually and she couldn’t help the way her gaze flickered from those hands to his lips and back again. He didn’t miss it either.

“I see” she replied in her best Manager Voice though it was ruined by the grin playing about her lips. “Any suggestions, Mr. Grady?” This was why she needed Owen, particularly since the Incident. It turned out they worked stupidly well together, made a fantastic team. He helped her stay positive with his light teasing, the easy flirting. Not to mention the care he so generously gave. The coffee, the comforting, especially from the nightmares. Only last week she had woken screaming from a dream that Indominus had defeated the T-Rex and Owen and the boys were gone to find Owen standing in the doorway. He had sprinted down the corridor from her guest bedroom (which once again she had insisted he take, if they were sticking together there was no sense him taking the couch for the foreseeable future) in only a pair of sleeping pants (she was not thinking about how vulnerable his bare feet made him or the things that his bare chest were doing for her libido, not thinking about it, so not thinking about it), gun in hand. In hindsight she’d commended him for being prepared and they were both suffering PTSD, so it wasn’t his fault he’d reacted automatically to her cries but at the time, as relieved as she’d been to see him, seeing the gun hadn’t helped initially. Regardless, when he’d seen her sobbing in the middle of the large white bed, he’d silently slipped onto the bed beside her and held her till it subsided. They’d woken up in each other arms but hadn’t talked about it. You could cut the tension between them with a knife but they were both so bent on just finding their way back to normal – and what being normal together meant- that they didn’t want to disturb the tender equilibrium that had developed. But something would have to give sooner or later.

Like I said. Idiots.

“Suggestions?” his tone roughed at her honeyed implication. Eyes twinkling, Owen moved to stand behind her again, hands coming to rise with surprising gentleness on her shoulders. Claire’s breath caught as he slid the straps of her tank top and bra off her shoulders “Relax” he breathed in her ear “I’m not that kinda guy, Claire” There was something in the way he said her name that made a warmth kindle in her chest. Then his thumbs dug into her muscles and started to massage. Claire hadn’t realised exactly how tense she actually was and she wasn’t sure if the electric tingles Owen’s touch was sending down her spine was helping. “Relax” he repeated. The moan Claire emitted as he worked loose a knot near the base of her neck made them both freeze. Claire was shocked at herself, but it had felt so good, she hadn’t even realised until it was too late the sound she was making. Her head whipped round to see the heat of Owen’s gaze, the pure desire bubbling there. But she didn’t want passion – well she did – but she couldn’t afford to lose him. For it to burn out. Not after everything they’d been through together. Owen couldn’t help but think what it would be like to hear her make noises like that from underneath him as they moved together, nails scraping down his back and if she responded like that from a little massage... The moment was ruined by the trill of her phone, buzzing distractedly on the desk beside them. Claire blushed a beautiful rosy colour and stammered “Tha-Thanks Owen”, grabbing for the phone and pulling at the fallen straps. This was going to take more than Owen had thought, she was too skittish, he’d have to coax her, calm her like he’d done with his Raptors. Gently, so gently he slid the straps of her top back into their original position, hands still anchoring her to the chair “No problem”, then without thinking he bent to press a kiss exactly in the spot that had elicited that delicious sound. Before he could stop her, Claire had jumped up, still flushed and murmured something along the lines of ‘gotta take this’ before diving into her bedroom and shutting the door.

Owen stared after her for a few moments “Dammit”. He’d had enough of this skirting around each other crap. Seeing how she’d responded to that sensual gentility he realised he was gunna have to step up his game, make her realise what he wanted their life together to be. Picking up the cooling coffee he drained it in one and went to sit down in front of the plasma screen that dominated the living room. Turning the channel to some baseball game Owen leaned back to wait out Claire’s phone call, he couldn’t focus on the game, he had to think what he was going to say when that door opened.

Behind said door, Claire was leaning her forehead against the wood, murmuring absent-mindedly to the reporter who had a potential lead on the whereabouts of Doctor Wu. She should be paying more close attention but she couldn’t stop thinking about that kiss, that felt branded into the base of her neck. _I’m in trouble_.  _Screw this skirting around each other crap_. When this phone call ended she was going to have it out with him once and for all. She’d know where they stood come what may and hell to pay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that’s it! This is kind of a drabble, kind of a first chapter. I have more to put down but I’m not sure where this is going. I will be writing more basically which is surprising for me but I seriously love these characters. I hope it’s in character enough for everybody, but we’ll see where this goes I suppose.  
> Please pretty please with Owen Grady on top, review xxx


	2. Tequila Intolerants Need Not Apply

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am overwhelmed by the response to this story and I'm glad people are enjoying it so far! I'm not really sure where it's headed but somewhere good hopefully! I started writing this the same night I posted the first chapter but its quite a bit longer because I had so much I wanted to write in. There is something of a Chekov's Gun in this chapter but it's going to be resolved in the next chapter which will also be featuring Zach and Gray, rather than just in passing. I find it hardest to get into Owen's head to write this but I hope everyone's in character and you'll bear with me whilst I'm finding my feet. 
> 
> Thank you for the support and please keep reading! xxx

It’s reached the point where Owen thinks Claire is avoiding him, the phone call’s gone on that long. Which is ridiculous because they live together and Claire is not the type of woman to avoid anything anyway. Their disaster of a first date and the reaction when she’d seen the infamous board shorts attested to this. That and the way she’d unflinchingly manoeuvred the first press conference after the Incident. Yes, she intended to do her part for Masrani Incorporated and assist with the aftermath, no, she would not be doing interviews concerning the events that occurred in the hours after the evacuation, no she would not elaborate on Mr. Grady’s involvement. Or to use her exact words ‘he’s a big boy, ask him yourself’. Those last comments had made Owen, stood leaning against the wall at the back of the room at the time – having flat out refused to participate in that press conference about the future of the company, he wasn’t on the company board or part of the corporate element of the company like Claire, he was just a researcher and would be interviewed as such – snort with laughter. That had earned them a few comments about the nature of the relationship, ‘the saviour of Islar Nublar and Jurassic World’s Alpha find solace in each other’ and so on, but they’d said nothing, choosing instead to let their proximity at the next conferences speak for itself. Those necessary evils made Claire even more uncomfortable than before and she wouldn’t let Owen out of her sight for the duration. He often spend them shadowing Claire, firmly gripping her elbow or wrist, drawing comfort from each other. The papers drew their own inferences, Claire and Owen just wanted to get back to normal, neither was in a hurry to have the assumption that they belonged together corrected either, even though, just like when they’d woken up together, just like when they’d kissed they were Not Talking About It. Until now.

 Anyway, the baseball game’s finished (Angels won) and Owen’s moved over to the open plan kitchen to start working on dinner.  He has formulated something of a plan, more like 12% of a plan if he’s completely honest with himself so it makes sense to feed them first. An army marches on its stomach after all. And he’s playing for time if nothing else. Should help him think more about how he’s going to word this, given how important it is to him. Them. Whatever.  He’s not lacking courage or anything like that, the man faced Raptors on a daily basis for Christ’s sake. _Man up Grady._ He’s just nervous because he’s really gotten to know Claire in these two short months, knows this could go one of two ways. One, she shoots him down because it’s too soon and they’re too busy and they’re in a good place aren’t they? Two....he lets her know what he wants and then that’s as far as he’s gotten. After all, she’s the one who prints out itineraries for a date, not him.  But he hopes there’s kissing.

It’s when he’s tipping the chicken for the enchiladas into the pan that the door finally opens. Instantly, he’s alert (or as alert as you can be after 5 shots of tequila, but they’re having Mexican and he’s going to get Claire to adapt her diet to accommodate it or die trying) watches her emerge following the scent of the food to see him behind the kitchen island. “Sorry” she calls out, instantly apologetic “I didn’t realise how long that was going to be.” She places her phone on the coffee table and joins him by the oven. From the look of her it was particularly harrowing so he guesses she won’t discuss it till later when they relaxed on opposite ends of the stupidly large comfortable couch with a glass of their chosen poisons.

 “You should have just ordered in and I could’ve paid you back, I know it was my turn to cook tonight”

“It was” he agreed, ignoring looking at her in favour of slicing peppers  because he’s really starving by now and she must be too  and he’s gunna do this right, damn it. He’s not rushing her this time. “but I fancied Mexican and we both know what a mistake letting you cook Mexican can be” he slid her a sideways crooked grin, both of them remembering  the charred pan that had had to be thrown out. With a hole in the bottom.  “Claire” There was something in Owen’s tone, a seriousness that halted her smile in its tracks – she did it an obscene amount around him really – making her look at him properly. “Claire, I wanted to –“

It was then that both Owen and Claire noticed something simultaneously, distracting them from the aforementioned shared goal of hashing out their relationship status.  For Claire, it was the bottle of tequila. For Owen, it was Claire’s bracelet.

 

“Tequila, seriously?!” she cries, half incredulous, half laughing, just as Owen says “What’s this?” and tries to reach for her wrist. But, just like in the Park when they’d been fleeing the ruins of the original guest centre from the Indominus, when he’d offered his hand, Claire was too distracted and moved out of his grasp. Picking up the bottle, Claire crossed the space and fetched a glass from one of the shiny white overhead cabinets, setting it  alongside his empty one as a companion. Her flowery scent distracted him from replying to her next question “How many have you had?”

Looking at him, almost in what felt like assessment, she turned her back and poured the tequila then sliced some fresh lime for the both of them.  “I know it’s been hard, these past two months, but – but we’ve – I mean, we’re doing okay right?” she asked so quietly he almost didn’t catch what she’d said. It was then that he looked at her talkativeness anew, her rushed succession of questions taking on a new meaning. She was nervous. Insecure. Claire Dearing was nervous. Three months ago this is something Owen would have paid to see but now...apart from being rather adorable it was disquieting. It was then that he saw how dumb having a bottle of tequila on the counter had been. He’d meant it as a bit of fun, a way to unwind but she’d taken it as a coping mechanism. Given that he’d had a drink of whisky before trying to get some sleep every night for two weeks in the beginning – only one glass, just to try and ease him off, it wasn’t an unfair assumption. But her nervousness...Claire had been through enough. _They_ had been through enough. They deserved a reprieve.

“Claire” _gently, gently_ he stepped quickly so that he was behind her once more, hands coming to rest on her forearms, with what he hoped was a reassuring squeeze. “Claire we’re doing great. Better than expected in recovery terms to be honest with ya”

Of course, Claire realised, feeling stupid, he’d have been through this before because of his time in the military. “I – the tequila, it’s just meant to be a bit of fun. It was stupid, I shouldn’t have -“

Claire twisted suddenly in his arms, making Owen step back in surprise. Just when he’d think he had her all figured out, here she was surprising him, as unpredictable as any of his Raptor brood. But then, she was a highly intelligent living creature just like them, he reasoned, only far prettier.  Realising her abruptness, she reached out for him, guiding Owen’s arms subconsciously back to embrace her, only this time his hands settled on her hips instead. Neither of them seemed aware of their proximity, just happy to be near one another, in their own little bubble. “No, Owen, its – fun. I can be fun. You’re right. I need fun right now.”

She was still edgy, still occupied with Park related thoughts, if her half hearted decisiveness was anything to go by. These damned phone calls were undoing all the benefits that family time and therapy (not that there had been much, Claire had snorted and walked out apparently, saying there was hardly much the books and therapists could support her with against dinosaurs) had given.

“Thought you were intolerant to tequila?” he teased lightly, thumbs rubbing her hip bones. That was what pulled her back, the pleasurable pressure on her hips which were oddly sensitive at the best of times. The heat from Owen’s hands was not helping matters. Well. It was in a manner or speaking but not in the way that was conducive to behave around foodstuffs. _Christ Claire, get your mind out the gutter!_ She chided herself

Swallowing, Claire reached behind herself, first for one glass then the other, holding one out to him. “I never said intolerant...” she gave a slow, sexy smile. “I said my diet wouldn’t allow it. Well, any diet really, you should see the arti-“ Owen’s head gently inclined with a huff of laughter and she realised she was getting off topic. “I think my dietary requirements have changed significantly since the last time we had this little talk. Outrunning a T-Rex earns a girl a few indulgences don’t you think?” On the word ‘indulgences’ her eyes went from the glass Owen had accepted from her straight to his lips. She quickly did her shot, then coughed from the taste and smiled up at him defiantly.

Returning her smirk, Owen quickly followed suit, his eyebrows quirking upwards cheekily at her words. “Couldn’t agree more”.

They were suddenly hyper aware of just how close they were to one another, so nearly touching. Claire’s head tilted upwards “Good” she breathed, just before she stretched upwards on her tiptoes and her lips touched his. Neither of them registered the shattering as the shot glasses connected with the tiled floor as they were dropped. Owen’s interest in Claire’s little brown bracelet was forgotten as everything suddenly went from 0 to 60mph. His grip on her hips renewed its fervour tenfold, pinning her against the counter but that still wasn’t enough contact so he ended up sliding his hands down, over her ass to cup the backs of her thighs and lift her so that she was seated on the counter top.  Their lips never separated and Claire couldn’t help but gasp, surprised by his eagerness, unable to breathe under the passion of Owen’s mouth on hers. Giving her a moment, Owen renewed his attentions, taking the opportunity to deepen the kiss. As his tongue traced her teeth, Claire’s legs parted to allow him to step in between, her calves folding to pull him closer, heels digging into the backs of his own legs. His lips, laced with the tequila seemed to burn her with the intensity, the pure unadulterated want which she returned in kind. One hand twisted in his shirt, bringing him close so he could feel the tantalising press of her breasts against his pectorals . If it were possible he pulled her closer, trapping her lower lip between his own to nip at it. The other hand  slid up his cheek to tangle in his hair. It was everything, everything they’d been denying themselves, everything that couldn’t be expressed during that brief interlude on the Island where there had been death and destruction and more importantly her nephews to consider. When breathing became an absolute necessity they parted, breathing heavy.

Claire’s sweet pink lips were darkened and swollen, buffed from the delectable scrape of Owen’s stubble combined with the bites he had lavished upon her. Owen wasn’t fairing much better, his mouth was in a similar condition, hair everywhere, somehow Claire had managed to work two of his shirt buttons loose. Bent into the void  created between each other they looked at each other’s debauchery  which did absolutely nothing to quell the desire bubbling away.

“Fuck” Owen swore, more to himself than anything else. “That was” he huffed a laugh “You been holding out on me, Dearing”. He slapped the counter because it was so close to perfect. So close. But that wasn’t how he’d wanted this to go down.

Sensing his distance, Claire reached for him, emboldened, hands running through his hair, soothing yet demanding his attention. “I’m good at control y’know” she murmured “Let me take it”

One of the hardest things Owen has ever had to do was his silent command to Blue telling her to leave them, leave him, after everything that had happened. Watching her disappear back up the plaza into the unknown. Stepping back from the countertop, from Claire, equalled it. But if they were going to do this, they were gunna do it right. He’d been repeating it, over and over like a mantra in his head. It was the same with the Raptors, right from when they were little. (Not, of course, that Claire was a Raptor – she could scream like one especially when pissed off – but she was far easier to get along with, to anticipate) It was the same in that it would be a relationship in the truest sense of the word, one of mutual respect.

God help him, he wanted a relationship. He wanted waking up next to her and rumpled smiles paired with morning coffee.  Owen wanted  a dog and arguing over who cooked (they did that anyway  but it wasn’t the same, it was like something off the Big Bang Theory). When they touched he didn’t want hesitancy over where the boundary was rather but surety that there were none.

At Owen’s movements and then with his next words, Claire felt as if a bucket of ice water had just been emptied over her, freezing her right to her core. “This was a mistake”

Time seemed to stop. _What the fuck?!_

“This was a mistake” he repeated “I shouldn’t have-“

“A mistake?! You didn’t seem to think it was a mistake when you hoisted me onto the counter and kissed me back!” she retorted, having found her voice, spitting the words at him.

“No I didn’t I mean, dammit I didn’t want it to go-“ He walked away from the counter properly this time, trying to get a handle on his words but he hadn’t planned this properly as it was and looking into her beautiful green eyes particularly when they were burning so brightly was throwing him off course. This was and was not what he wanted. She’d come out of the bedroom sure enough. And they’d kissed. All according to plan really. But there was supposed to be that bit in the middle where they’d talked.

“What? Use your words. Don’t you walk away from me!” he wasn’t looking but heard what sounded like her fist pound the counter.  Surprised by that outburst Owen turned round and strode towards her “Do you have _any_ idea how hard this is for me? How frustrating, I mean, you’re such a damn challenge all the time and –“

He’d meant it as a compliment, he’s always liked a challenge both at work and play hence the reason he started working with dinosaurs for God’s sake and then asked out the captivating Park’s Manager, but it has completely the opposite effect. Springing off the counter she charges past him, heading back to the bedroom, dinner be damned, calling over shoulder as she went “Go then! If it’s so hard being here, around me, you can just –“.  She doesn’t actually finish because Owen’s caught her  by the arm, accidentally yanking her backwards so that she collides against his chest. He still hasn’t fixed those loose buttons either.

She was frustrating? He was the frustrating son of a bitch! They were supposed to talk after they’d kissed for God’s sake, not have a full blown argument! “Claire, will ya stop being so stubborn and _listen to me_  for five minutes here so I can tell you what I **do** want?” Owen called after her, voice soft, surprisingly so, yet there was a hint of strength there. A passion. Something she’d heard him use with the Raptors. His accent gets thicker when he's irritated or surprised and God damn if that isn't a turn on. There was glint of silver in front of her eyes and Claire realises he’s stuck the framed photograph (Karen’s handiwork) of them with her nephews three weeks ago under her nose. It was Karen who’d taken the shot, right at the start of the last Family Day that they’d started having which Owen was always roped into attending. This was partially because the boys adored him and partly because the entire Mitchell family were hoping the two lovebirds would get their heads out of the asses and actually make Owen a part of the family properly. They’re greeting the boys in the picture, blissfully unaware of Karen; Gray plastered to Owen’s side both smiling at the other – though Owen’s eyes betray his surprise at Gray’s enthusiasm) whilst Claire and Zach had evidently just released each other given the odd angle of their arms. But the thing that Karen had elbowed her little sister in the ribs for when she’d plonked the frame down on the side table where it has lived since is the fact that Owen and Claire’s fingertips are practically brushing, one reflexively reaching out for the other.

_“You’re always doing it. The pair of you. Like a defense mechanism or something” Karen had commented when she’d brought it up. “We’ve all noticed” At this, Gray and Zach had nodded in the background, practically in-sync. Traitors._

“I want this” Owen blurted out, in the here and now. Seeing her eyebrows raise in confusion he continued “I mean, I want this with you. Hell, Claire, course I want you. I’ve always wanted you, since you first walked into that boardroom my first day on the island and _instantly_ got under my skin” he explains unable to help the chuckle that escapes as he remembers. “But I want more. I want us to be a ‘long term investment’. He couldn’t resist using business terms and sure enough it makes her eyes crinkle into that soft laugh that he loves which the world doesn’t see enough. “I want us to be a family. See if we can –“ he taps the photograph in silence, unable to get the rest of it out, because the concept of having children, of actually being a father to a little pile of pink mush, rather than a scaly little prehistoric lizard is beyond him at that moment. "We've been dancing round each for ages now. Then we finally get to chance to go on date were we didn't exactly put our best foot forward, so to speak, so there was THAT", his gesticulating hand covering the board shorts, itinerary and her refusal to drink tequila at the bar across from the restaurant. "And then near death to get us here. Living together, working together it isn't enough it ain't the same as being together. An we work Claire, you know we do. So? Can we stick together officially you and I or am I gunna have to start house hunting again because I think our lack of 'consultations' is gunna kill me".

"That's still not funny." She manages to get out,  slightly dumbstruck by his words

"Eh it's still a little funny" he replies, smile broadening as they echo that previous exchange, glad she's responding positively so far at least. 

Claire understands what he's on about though and blushes beautifully, hope blossoming in eyes. She takes the photograph from him and sets it down by the sofa,anger forgotten, so that they're in each other's space once again. 'I can't give you that, Owen.' There's something in his eyes that seem to die with her words but she's right in his face now and she's smiling like she's about to whisper a secret and he's so far gone he couldn't move if he tried God damn her 'because you already are family' The light, it's hope she cottons on is back full force as he reaches for her. This time it's him who kisses her, soft and lush, like she's made of glass, like he can't believe what she's giving him, that she's giving him. Claire huffs annoyedly against his mouth 'I won't break Grady'

He mutters something about how the dinner might and that gets her. Giggling, she breaks away from him and tears the enchiladas out of the oven, not giving a damn whether they're done or not because she has far more important appetites to satisfy and it's her turn anyway they can just order. Her lips slam back to his, fingers making quick work of where they'd left of, pushing his shirt off those broad shoulders, fingers tracing electric trails down his arms. His hands are also working their magic, forcing their lips to separate as he yanks off her tank top, pulling her flush against him as he undoes her bra with one hand, moaning into her neck at the satisfaction of her bare breasts against his torso. "Fucking finally" he cusses, nipping at her ivory skin. 

Her hands are firmly fixed in his hair, tugging at strands in a silent demand for him to get a move on, letting him deal with uncovering their lower halves in favour of letting her lips dance across his collarbones. This provokes an interesting reaction, a near guttural moan and he's having to dig his thumbs into her hips as a surge of desire courses through him. Her mouth pauses in its ministrations to smirk against his skin "Sweet spot huh?" before she's back worse than before. 

"Mmmph" he mutters distractedly. Seconds later she's naked which is completely unfair so she works his belt and pants off, leaving only the boxers but after another second their gone too. She's very body confident normally but under his blazing bright green gaze she's suddenly shy particularly since he's...well the way he talks about how he is with women is certainly well founded. 

She swallows at the lascivious grin he's giving her, yet his voice when he speaks is even gentler than before and his eyes are only softer still, their cheeky twinkle muted. "You're gorgeous. Come here"pulling her towards him by the hand to kiss her. It's startling how breath takingly possessive it is. How much she enjoys it. Encouraged, it's her though who pushes them back on the sofa, so she's straddling him and deepening the kiss even further. His hands run erratically up and down her curves, unable to settle only succeeding in pulling her closer as they move together, finding their rhythm, moaning encouragements, lips writing their love into each others skin. 

Owen proves Claire correct in her suspicions that there's probably an oral fixation when he leaves a few tender bitemarks and hickeys. Claire however, surprises Owen with hers.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really wanted to get this posted so the end is a bit rushed I feel but I'm going to be writing more I'm just bushed tonight. I hope you like it. I may re-write this with a larger sexy time bit. Scratch that I'm going to. Or if not, it'll be continued into the opening of the next chapter.


	3. Migration Patterns

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so, the sexy times I cut short last chapter because I really didn’t know if I could write them and I was a little frazzled tbh, continue in this chapter alongside fluff and progress and other things. Things have been quite consecutive up to now but it may start jumping forward a little after this. Like I say I have no idea where this is going but you guys and your support for this story is really encouraging so thank you!! Xxx
> 
> A special thank you to AurelianRebels for the assistance, its helped me to find my way in expressing Owen more easily and hopefully I’ll get better at it as I go xxx

 

As the couple’s movements got more and more heated, they pulled apart to murmur one word.

“Bedroom” growled Owen, a few inches from Claire’s wrecked, ever-tempting mouth.

“Condom” Claire countered against Owen’s jaw, breathing in his scent, letting it calm her, anchor her. It also did a hell of a job in turning her on. That hadn’t helped the tension any before they’d jumped each other. Surprised at this difference in opinion, simply because one had taken the other’s  requirement as a given, they separated properly, looking at one another in bemused surprise. The press of Owen’s erection against her thigh, however, reminded them both of the heated tension in the room.

 “Claire Mary Dearing, are you suggesting we have our first time on the couch?” Owen teased, the enthusiasm in his voice spoiling the mock innocence on his face. He couldn’t hold it and dissolved into a grin, as he easily got up from the couch and began to walk them towards the bedroom. “And they say romance is dead.”

Claire huffed, decidedly unimpressed at his terrible humour, enjoying the heated groan Owen gave as she scraped her nails along his shoulders from where her arms were wrapped around his neck.  Owen’s use of her full name had come as a nasty shock about a month ago and when he’d seen the reaction it provoked he’d delighted in using it as often as humanly possible. Well. Two could play at that game. He’d soon learn that Claire played her cards very close to her chest. They were nearly at the bedroom door – Claire’s apartment was massive, when she’d let Owen in originally, his mouth had dropped open and he’d said she might as well say it was a penthouse rather than just an apartment and call it good – Owen had paused, just holding her, pleased with himself, waiting to see what she’d come up with.  A wicked little grin formed and Owen, quite rightly, started to re-evaluate his bravado. Especially since all that makes him want to do is kiss her.

“Well, _I_ happen to be organised, Owen S-“

“Utter another syllable and I will drop you” he immediately cuts her off, humoured and horrified in equal turn as he tries to work a threatening glare around that smile of his at the fact of  how utterly perfect she is. No-one knows his middle name.  Her mouth opens again, a perfect gleeful ‘O’.  _Little minx._ Owen plastered on his best poker face, the one that had made Barry swear he would never play Owen again. She wouldn’t get him to break, he **wouldn’t** laugh.

“Don’t tempt me”

“Aw, but the Navy were so _helpful_ in disclosing you’re personnel file to me when you came to Jurassic World. I had no idea ‘S’ stood for –“

Glossing over the fact that Claire had held onto this information for the duration of how long they’d known each other and was only letting this be known _now,_ Owen released his grip momentarily, giving Claire a heart stopping lurch as she started to fall, slipping down Owen’s hips unsupported. She shrieked and tightened her grip around his neck, which up until then had been lax and casual into what was essentially a chokehold.

“I warned you” he chortled as he re-gripped her thighs at the last possible second. Claire was too busy muttering curses into the skin of his neck to pay any attention. Owen lifted her and settled her legs around his hips properly once more, continuing to move towards the bedroom. As he did so, Owen set about recreating the mood from before, kissing up and down her neck, nibbling her ear lobe as well as massaging his thumbs into the dents of her surprisingly sensitive hipbones. Listening to her moans become more frequent, more intense, Owen couldn’t hold back a smirk. _That’ll be fun later._

“I hate you” she hummed into his throat, still holding tight.

 It reminded him of those nights where Owen had found Claire, drowning in her white bed sheets, shaking off another nightmare. Or occasionally when she’s in the kitchen or her office and she loses her grip on the present; dragged back instead to burning flares and so many teeth. Of vice like arms and choked breaths from where’s she’s been hunched over and shuddering. Owen would approach her like one of his raptors, getting his hand under her chin to force her to look at him, eyes soft but tone sharp, authoritative. Claire’s arms would always wind around Owen’s neck and pull him tight, knowing that as long as he was around she was safe.

Owen himself was better at coping but only just. It was dinosaurs after all. Although she didn’t have the training Claire certainly had the instinct. She realised earlier on that when Owen was having a panic attack or whatever that she wouldn’t often find him frozen to the spot instead Owen would go to ground; working on his new bike in the apartment complex’s allocated underground garage space which she had given to him after he’d bought it because apart from somewhere to store her Mercedes she really didn’t use it. If he wasn’t there odds are he would be at some local dive with Barry, Lowery or some of the Navy buddies who’d looked him up after they’d got back from Central America. She’d track him down, drag him out, sober him up if needs be and just hold him until the hard lines of his body relaxed and she would feel his large hands encircle her waist with a strange sense of desperation, face buried in her perfumed neck, breathing deep. 

“No you don’t” he retorted jovially “I saved you from raging dinosaurs, baby, hardwood floors don’t stand a chance.”

Claire’s eyebrows went up at the endearment. Owen’s done it before, calling her ‘honey’ or ‘darling’ either in sarcasm during an argument about what to do over fucking InGen or the vacuuming or in passing like many other man had tried to over the years. That said, Claire’s never wanted to hit Owen like those other assholes. Over pet names anyway. But this, this is genuine and that makes it a gift. Claire thinks she could get used to that.

Its only when she feels the cool softness of fabric at her back, abrupt to her system after the heated touch of human skin that she realises he’s laid her on the bed. Claire maintains her position, until she hears Owen’s voice.

“Claire” he coaxes, running his fingers through her silky red locks, trailing down her elegant jaw to collect in the hollow puddle of smooth skin at the bottom of her throat.

“C’mon Claire Bear” voice a little rougher, a little louder.  She opens her eyes at that, betraying her distain at that particular nickname, mouth screwing up into a moue of displeasure. Only her Dad ever calls her Claire Bear and Owen knows that (she was drunk _)_ and she sure as hell doesn’t have a daddy kink. He knows that too. (So, _so_ drunk)

“Aha, knew that’d get you” he huffed triumphantly, from where his arms are braced either side of her head, keeping his weight off her, except for that delicious press of his pectorals against her breasts that makes them both sigh with contentment. Unable to resist, he leaned down to steal a kiss as his prize, only this turns out to be the last straw. Contact between them has always been incendiary and this, now, this is a wildfire.

“Baby” he mumbles just barely, stealing kisses, reverent presses of lips after every other word “I’d never let _anything_ happen to you. You’ve got know that?”

Claire doesn’t say anything. She can’t. It’s too much. She’s had this before, been in love before but those past relationships pale in comparison to this, shrinking back like bashful ghosts. She’s had the big, hollow promises of forever, that seem to brand young love stories across the ages. But to have Owen say it, after everything they’ve been through together... _everything..._ she knows that he would do anything, be anything for her because he did and that’s what makes it real. So she kisses back with everything that she has, all that she is, to let him know the same.  

Owen groans low in his throat and his hands, one which had been caressing Claire’s face with their interlaced fingers and the other braced to hold his weight off her quickly snap upwards to anchor Claire’s wrists to either side of her head like handcuffs. The rapid change of pace makes Claire gasp but she gets with the change of programme just as fast. She leans up, fighting against his hold a little trying to prolong the contact of their lips but Owen has other plans.

Digging distractedly in her nightstand he blindly plucks the little foil packet out, rips it open with his teeth and _okay, that’s a little hot_ , and rolls it on.

Claire huffs at him, because she _needs,_ damn him, turning her head to kiss his cheek whilst he noses his way down her throat. Owen gives a full blown grin at her feistiness, nipping her collarbone as he progressed down towards her breasts.  She digs her heels into his back – he’d completely forgotten she was still wearing them and _holy shit but that’s hot –_ sticking her tongue out at him in an absurdly cute way when his head pokes up from the valley of her breasts“Do I need to reassert my dominance, Miss Dearing?” he drawls cheekily.

“You can try” she retorts “but there’s no way in hell _I’m_ calling you ‘Alpha’” Even as she says it, her toes are curling under his ministrations. Claire couldn’t have taken control even if she’d wanted to. No wonder Owen actually was able to establish himself as Alpha over a pack of Raptor siblings, _Jesus._ Laughter erupts out of Owen, head thrown back to the ceiling for a moment before his head falls back, eyes sparkling up at her.

“Well in that case...” his smile gains a devious edge and maintaining eye contact with Claire he bends to take one of her nipples into her mouth, fingers attending the other one. As his tongue laves across it Claire can’t take it, head banging against the pillows at the burst of sensation everywhere as he praises her breasts, clever fingers scissoring her open at the same time. She twists out of his hold, letting her hands run along his pectorals, as he works his way down towards her sex. Owen hovers when he reaches her hips, _oh god, oh god, please._ As his mouth grazes her hipbones Claire’s surprised he doesn’t get his nose broken with how quickly she vaults up off the bed.

Owen won’t be distracted though, so he gently but firmly presses her back down, one hand remaining on her abdomen to keep her from any more automatic gymnastics.She’s got some serious willpower because she has no idea how she managed to go without this, resist _that_ for two months and then for the year and a half that they knew each other since Owen began working for Ingen and Masrani Incorporated.  Owen continues to work his way down, breath hot over Claire’s sex, making her wriggle in anticipation. He glances up, makes sure he’s got her eye as he says “Tell me if you want me to stop”

Ever the gentleman.  “Never” Claire returns, eyes just as fierce, fingers working their way into his hair. They don’t talk after that, just allowing for the sound of skin on skin and each other’s breathless moans as they move together, falling over the edge of their arousal  and slowly put each other back together.  His clever fingers scissor Claire open as she captures his lips. When Owen sinks into her, up to the hilt, they cry out together softly together. The initial steady pace Owen sets quickly fades out as they find their rhythm, rocking into Claire faster and faster, marvelling at how beautiful Claire is as she falls apart beneath him, following after her.

Afterwards, Owen kisses Claire long, languid and loving and gathers her close, pulling the sheets over their heated forms. Turns out Claire isn’t shy, practically plastering herself across his chest, head tucked under Owen’s chin. He chuckles at her forwardness, hoping this is a sign of things to come and kisses the top of her head, one arms snaking across her stomach to hold her fast whilst one comes up to allow him to cup her jaw.  It’s the first good night sleep either of them have since coming back from Isla Nublar, the nightmares that have plagued them both kept at bay by knowing that the one thing they most fear losing is clasped in their arms.

Owen wakes to the smell of wildflowers in his nose and assumes he’s back in his bungalow on the island which, when that sinks in makes his heart skip a beat. _Did they not get away? Has he dreamt the whole thing and he’s still on the island without Claire?_ But then he detects ginger and something softer, like vanilla as well. Confused, Owen opens his eyes to see a tangle of limbs and a shock of red hair right in his face. It comes flooding back and he breathes a sigh of relief... _Claire._ He relaxes back into the bed, rubbing a hand over his face. Some of his fellow animal behavioural therapists would say this concern and utter _need_ for Claire was bordering on dependency.

 Actually, his Ingen hired therapist did say that.  

But Claire...she’s too precious in that she’s a survivor just like but there’s a calm grace about her. Even when everything is shot to hell, and she’s panicking, Claire’s first priority is everybody else. She unlocked and singlehandedly led a T-Rex out of its paddock for God’s sake.

But Owen’s an animal behavioural therapist for some of the most intriguing and dangerous animals on the planet. LA Zoo had originally wanted him to do some lion tamer style crap but he’d told them that he had qualifications and if he wasn’t going to be allowed to use them, Igen were paying him enough to train up the containment recruits (he’s only doing for Blue, the zoo job’s to get him out the house if nothing else) and if they tried that they could stick their job where the sun don’t shine. He, Claire, Lowery, Vivian and Barry had all got merrily smashed over the fact that it was that little outburst that landed him the job because he’s apparently a ‘hot commodity’ at the moment and ‘not to be passed over’. There’d been no living with him after that according to Claire. Yet she’d stuck around so she seemed to agree.

Stroking Claire’s hair, he pushes the worrying thoughts away for later and its then that Owen notices the little brown strand around Claire’s right wrist that had distracted him the previous night. Reaching forward he brushes his fingers over what turns out to be a simple brown suede bracelet with a tiny silver charm attached. Pulling Claire’s arm closer he sees that it’s a raptor claw with a bright turquoise crystal bead alongside.

Blue appears in his mind’s eye, newly hatched and stumbling towards his outstretched palms.

Emotion surges through Owen, a renewed tender warmth burgeoning in his chest as he takes in Claire’s sleeping face, sunlight streaming through the bay windows turning her hair to liquid fire. “Claire.... Baby. _Claire”_ her nose wrinkles at the disruption to her sleep and she tries to burrow further into Owen’s chest.  Rolling his eyes good humouredly, he slips out from under her and leans over, shaking her slightly and stroking her cheek in equal turn. “Claire. Sweetheart.”

Green orbs appear followed by a groggy “Owen?” He’s in love with the way she says his name, even when she’s half dead with sleep.

“Morning, gorgeous.”  She grins at him, sitting up, pausing when she feels the tug on the bracelet she’s never taken off since she made it three weeks ago.

“What’s this?” Owen persists, beautiful, blunt Owen, pressing the claw into her skin to make sure he’s got her attention.

She’d wondered how long it would take him to spot the subtle addition to her wardrobe. “A reminder.” She replies with absent minded softness, as if in a trance. Slowly, glassily, she looks at him, shifting in the bed so that she’s straighter. Owen watches her worriedly, she’s slipped away from him, lost in thought. Claire’s index finger hooks around the suede and pulls it round her slim ivory wrist. After a few seconds she comes back to herself and takes his hand in hers. “I needed - I wanted to remember Blue, and what she and the others did for us. To remind me that they weren’t all bad. I wanted something that reminded me of you close by. To remind me that I’ve got you. Out of all of this I got you”

Oh God he loves her. Any doubt, any question of it has evaporated with her words and the heat he can feel from her blushed admission. It’s been coming slowly, gradually. The first inkling had been shortly after they’d moved in together, when he’d staggered down the corridor after a rough night of tossing and turning; before they’d even acknowledged that talking about it would have to be a thing, that therapy could help, when they’d just sit staring at the TV blankly, numb to everything but each other, experiencing a culture shock of sorts because everything familiar and comforting was new and strange because nothing would ever be the same again. Turning to find her sitting at the breakfast bar – she had a breakfast bar of all things, good god, munching her health freak cereal to find fresh coffee and a fry up waiting for him with a bowl of melon and mango between them both. She’d glanced up at him with a wordless smile of welcome, squeezing his hand as he sat, giving him a minute; to see if that was the day they started working through it, on the Incident, on the business of surviving together before she went back to her breakfast.

When he kisses her this time, the passion is on the back burner. He won’t push her, won’t blurt out what he’s thinking because last night had been a bit of a mess if he’s honest with himself and he’ll do this right. He’s a behavioural therapist for Christ’s sake, he’s supposed to know how to stagger things to make positive progress. Okay it was animal specific, but humans are mammals too, the knowledge is transferable. So when he kisses her, it’s warm, sweet, filled with everything he daren’t say just yet. It’s a thank you, unhurried, unlike the one of the Island and a promise all rolled into one. “Where’s mine then?” he breathes against her lips.

Claire pulls back, something indiscernible shining in her expression and she kisses back a tad more desperately this time. Things are starting to heat up when they hear a banging. Neither of them had bothered to close the bedroom door last night so it must be – “Aunt Claire! Owen! Aunt Claire! Owen!”

“Oh, **shit** ” 

It _is_ the apartment door. And that’s Gray, with Zach, Karen and Scott for Family Day on the other side. They’d been the ones to fly out this time.  Owen and Claire stare at each other, deliberating. Claire had hoped that once they’d become a couple they’d be capable of that Vulcan mind meld thing she’s seen couples do a thousand times, but to no avail....wait were they a couple?  Yes. Yes of course they were a couple. _Just a bit slow on the consummation front. And dear God did I really just say consummation?  This is what I get for falling asleep to The Tudors on Netflix._ Maybe she _was_ jumping the gun a bit though given that they’d only become a couple last night.

Owen scrambles out of the bed and Claire tumbles after him, both as naked as they day they were born. Owen’s just about to fling the door open and make a grab for the clothes they discarded last night when they hear the apartment door opening. Freezing, Claire releases a string of whispered curses as she realises the other half of her family have entered the apartment and just how bad an idea it was to give Karen an emergency key.

Shoving her arms into her cherry blossom embossed silk robe, Claire hurtles towards the bedroom door, thanking God for the dividing screen that hides the room from living room view. Reaching the doorway she turns, about to slam it behind her when she sees Owen right behind her.

“What the hell are you doing?” she demands, trying fruitlessly to push him back. “You have to hide until I can get them downstairs. _Hide”_

“You’re not going to tell your family about us?” he asks, grabbing her arm and pulling her back instead, trying and failing to stomp down the hurt burning through him, like lava bubbling in the pit of his stomach. It must be written all over his face as Claire instantly realises, reaching for him, cradling his face in her palms. “Owen. Owen, _of course_ I’m going to tell them about us. Only not when we’ve obviously just had sex! For one thing, the last time Karen caught me with a guy was when I was 17. She came home early and Marcus Kneller fell out of my bedroom window and broke his foot. Plus, my nephews do not need to see me with sex hair!”

Owen’s smile when it comes is blinding. “Personally, I’m a huge fan of you with sex hair” She lets go of him with an scrunched up expression “Shut up, _Sheldon_  ” she hisses, crossing to her dressing table to run a brush through her hair and then twisting it up out of the way with a hairgrip.  Owen's staring at her, unable to believe she just used his middle name. "Yeah I went there" she grins smugly as she skips out the door, blowing him a kiss. Entering the apartment’s main space, Claire spots the Mitchell parents congregated in the kitchen, with Zach. Karen’s started cleaning up last night’s half cooked enchiladas.

“Just leave them Karen, its fine”  she calls, striding towards them. She falters for a moment at the sight of the discarded clothes by the couch but speedily snatches them and has to dash back to open the bedroom door and throw them at Owen’s surprised face.

After that little interlude, she rejoins her family in the kitchen. “Hey guys. Sorry, I didn’t hear you come in. She’s trying desperately to be casual and by the look on Karen’s face, her sales pitch isn’t up to scratch.

Gray pops up in front of her all of sudden, making her jump. “Aunt Claire, I can’t find Owen.” He gestures towards the corridor leading to Owen’s bedroom.

“Oh he’s gone for milk” she declares airily, “He’s the worst, he always puts the empty carton back in the fridge” It’s actually her and she knows it, but she’s panicking okay and it was the first thing to come to her.  She leans past Scott to the fridge, retrieving it and slamming the empty carton down to illustrate her point triumphantly.

“LIAR” Owen’s booming shout comes from behind her closed bedroom door. Claire cringes unable to help the expletive that escapes her, waiting to see what happens next, ignoring Karen’s “ _Claire”_ and the obvious nod towards Gray.

 Evidentially, Owen’s remembered that they have company because silence ensues. That is, until she hears the door creak open and sees Owen, wearing his jeans, thank God, padding towards them. He has the sense to look slightly embarrassed as he puts his hand up in greeting “Hey Karen, Scott, kids”

Scott and Zach, who despite his best efforts looks cautiously hopeful at this development, seem like they wish they’d rather be elsewhere whereas Karen and Gray look like Christmas has come earlier.

“Are you two dating?” Gray of course, eagerly breaks the silence, practically hopping with excitement at the prospect of being able to call Owen ‘Uncle’ any time soon.

“Well kid, uh – “maybe Claire’s right, it’s too damned early for this, he needs coffee first “We’re, um, we’re more like Barney and Robin from How I Met Your Mother” he tries, they were good friends right? He’s never seen the end, what with being in Costa Rica.

Zach snorts with laughter “Barney was in love with Robin”

 

Claire’s hand finds Owen’s to offer a reassuring squeeze and she doesn’t really let go for the rest of the day.  Claire and Owen sneak off to get ready, saying they were taking an emergency phonecall ehen the others had arrived. After clandestinely showering together whilst the Mitchells amuse themselves and pushing away the shower fantasies for later that, they’re dressed and ready to go with little trouble. Otherwise, Family Day goes off without a hitch. They go bowling; Owen and Claire as one team, Zach and Gray and then then they’re parents, making up the teams. Zach and Gray win, mainly because they’re parents want to preserve the brothers new bond and partially because Owen and Claire were too wrapped in each other, simply enjoying their proximity to one another without having to worry about whether it was allowed or if someone would comment. Its afterwards, when they’re all grabbing burgers that Karen collars her baby sister.  

“Finally! How long have you two been-“

“Last night” Claire admits because she loves Karen and she’s missed closeness, similar to what Zach and Gray seem to be experiencing, before she went off to Harvard and then her career took off. Moving to Central America wasn’t exactly conducive to family life.

Karen’s eyes widen a little but so does her smile and that’s what matters. That is, until she realises what Claire’s fluster that morning had been about “So when we came in... you – ew, _Claire”_

“You asked” Claire laughs, full and carefree, tilting her head back. When she comes back down she sees Karen looking at her like she hasn’t seen her in years. Owen’s eyes are also upon her, warmth and heat mixing in his green eyes at the same time.

They finally shake off the rest of their family at around 10pm, because Owen was never really just a guest at these things and its everything he can do to quell Gray’s questions about what he feels for Claire and where they’re headed when he doesn’t even know himself. At least he has their support. Even Zach claps him on the shoulder with a muttered “You got this...just don’t screw it up” as he’s going out the door.

“Alone at last” he was aiming for sexy bravado to get the mood going but it comes out more relieved as the door closes behind their guests. He loves Claire’s family, loves how easily they have accepted him, even before he made his move on Claire. And he knows his Mom’s gunna adore Claire, knows that whenever they meet (which has to be soon, he’d only see her for a week soon after they’d returned before he’d returned to LA and he wants her to know that he’s okay, still managing after the Navy and Isla Nublar rolled into one) it’s going to be terrifying. For him, anyway. Its then that Owen realises he’s alone in the living room, Claire must have slipped away as he’d started tidying the living room. “Claire?” he calls her name in the empty living room, looking round for her. He contemplates searching the apartment for her, wondering if she’d snuck out to have a last minute word with Karen. Why would such a small person buy such a big place? “Claire?” he tries again. “If we’re gunna play Hide n’ Seek, I’d much rather we were naked”

“I’m in here” she shouts from the bedroom. Following the sound of her voice, he comments “Occasionally you can be a real spoilsport y’know”  When he spots her, standing stock still in front of the bed, he’s worried she’s having another panic attack, she looks so nervous.

“What is it?” he asks, slowly padding towards her. He follows her wordless gesture until he spots a brand new ebony dresser next to her own white one and one of the three closet’s doors is wide open.

“I, uh, made some space for you in here. What with it being the Master bedroom and all I –“ she seems to decide that she wanted to try a different tack, taking a breath before beginning again.

“What I mean is, we’ve lived together but I want you to move in properly. Here. With me. I want you to be there every morning when I wake up, not just when one of us has had a bad night. I want us to fight over bed sheets and whose turn it is to use the bathroom, where your toothbrush is next to mine. I want you, all of you”

Crossing the room, Owen tugs Claire to him by her waist “You’ve got me” he assures her, before sealing the promise with his mouth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can’t write sexy scenes very well!
> 
> The first part of the chapter actually came to me earlier today and I just knew I wanted to write a bit where Owen and Claire know each other’s middle names and use them shamelessly to annoy the other because they seem like one of those couples. I wasn’t actually sure at the time if they had been given middle names officially (they have) so I made some up. I altered this and use the official middle names given to the characters by the Jurassic World wikia, so that’s my source. I was so happy to discover Owen’s middle name is Sheldon, I knew our precious badass had to be hiding something like that somewhere in the back story. I came up with the ‘Say another syllable’ reference at work and then changed the name to Sheldon when I checked my sources so SQUEE ADORABLE ALPHA IS ADORABLE AND HIS UNIQUE MIDDLE NAME IS CANON
> 
> So yes that made me far happier than it should have. I love it when fanfiction/ theories fall in line with canon.
> 
> Otherwise this chapter is rougher than should be but I it got away from me and I’m not sure if I’m happy with the ending but I wanted to get it up and posted for you guys.


	4. Maybe it's just you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry this update took so long but it’s extra long to make up for it. I’ve had no internet for about 3 weeks now and its’ been driving me up the wall but it means I’ve paid extra attention to this. Anyway I’M BACK, I’M HERE.  
> This chapter’s a bit Clarwen light if I’m completely honest but when I started writing I set out to write about their lives after Jurassic World, not just finding their way together and to each other but the other stuff that would have happened too – finding Henry Wu, which I’m guessing will be dealt with in the sequels (he needs to get his, he really does) and so on and how they would have managed this together (seriously if they’re not together in the sequels my heart will be pissed).  
> From the beginning, Claire has been easier to write and a lot of it comes from her perspective so far, but this chapter, for whatever reason, seemed to belong to Owen. I hope you like it xxx

It’s not all sunshine and sex though. It’s funny, Owen thinks as he’s sat in Masrani Incorporated’s LA office boardroom on the Wednesday, after he and Claire start sleeping together, how just when you’ve found your feet in one area of your life, someone’s pulling the rug out from under you in another.   Right now, it’s the corporate bastards at both Ingen and Masrani Inc, which isn’t really a surprise given the complete clusterfuck they’ve created between them, which Owen and Claire have been in the middle of since they came back. They’re both so exhausted _all_ they do is sleep together; crawling into bed at night, which sucks, because Owen’s wanted Claire for so long and now they can’t even enjoy themselves. Thankfully, they crawl into each other’s arms, so it sucks significantly less than if he couldn’t bury his face in Claire’s hair at the end of the day.  Plus the remaining unsolved sexual tension makes their time together interesting. At the minute, Owen’s sat, all done up in his Sunday best on a Wednesday for God’s sake, waiting for Claire to finish her meeting so that she can come and join them to sit in another goddamn meeting about the progress of the containment protocols, given the complete evacuation and abandonment of the Island. Then there are arguments over whose responsibility it actually is – Masrani Inc or Ingen – and how much attention Owen and Claire’s suggestions should be paid etcetera. See? Clusterfuck.

There are five of these loathed suits sat behind the big shiny black table across from him. Owen’s never liked these fat cat corporate morons. Four of them are just on the other side of middle aged or older, shirts stretched over their paunch and the minimalistic spot lights deftly placed in the ceiling shining off their heads.  Two are from Ingen, two from Masrani Incorporated itself. As for the fifth, Owen has no idea. The guy’s sat the furthest away and  looks to be around Owen’s age himself, the youngest of them all, skinny but athletic about it, though he is a bit Joe College. He’s probably an Intern or something, here to do the minutes. _Someone needs to tell the kid to get out before the place goes belly up._

 These guys are the ones with the Big Ideas, not the commanding officers, like Claire or Simon Masrani himself who involved themselves in the progress of running a park and handling some of the deadliest predators known to man. They sit back safe whilst sending others over the top, no clue what the world, especially Jurassic World, is really like. Exactly like when he was Navy.  And they’re smiling at him, sizing him up like one of their so called ‘Assets’ wondering what kind of return he’ll bring in. Claire had explained to him, in the line at Starbucks of all places, that the only reason she’d called the dinosaurs ‘assets’ was because she spent all day with assholes like the ones sat across from him now and that _they_ were the ones who saw the creatures as ‘numbers on a spreadsheet’ so in order to win their potential investors over, it was easier if she did too.  He doesn’t know how Claire stands it because right now it is creeping him the hell out.

“Ms. Dearing will be right with us, Mr. Grady.” One of them informs him, like he didn’t know that already. He nods, about to pull out his phone and text _Ms. Dearing_ that when he said they should stick together he’d damn well meant it and it was hardly sticking together if she left him to the monosaurs. But before he can, the man leans across the table in what he assumes is meant to be a friendly manner and continues “So we’d like to discuss a possibility with you whilst we’re waiting”

“Shouldn’t we wait for Claire?” he asks, half turning in his chair for the door as he says her name, formalities be damned, half hoping she’ll magically appear. No such luck as Fat Cat shakes his head, cheeks puffing up with his own self importance. “No, no, no, there’s no need for that. Ms. Dearing’s opinion on the matter will be gained in due course I’m sure”

Owen can’t help but smile to himself at that, because he’s stupidly proud of Claire for just wading into this mess once they became embroiled, demanding to know everything that’s going on _‘because hell will freeze over before I let that happen again’._

“You however, are the expert, really. Our eye witness.’ _What the hell does that make Claire?_ Owen wonders briefly ‘ You controlled the Velociraptors during your time at Jurassic World and then managed to eliminate the Indominus Rex. Regrettable really, it would have been preferred if that Asset could have been contained instead” The guy, who on second thoughts reminds him strongly of a weasel, catches Owen’s eye disapprovingly.

Again, with controlling the Raptors.

“Yeah?” he snorts, because professionalism can go to hell too, he decides “Well _the_ _Asset_ was starting to figure out its place at the top of the food chain and killing for sport while it went. You created the ultimate killing machine and you wanted to preserve it? Stick it in a circus tent and charge a couple thousand dollars for it? And I didn’t control the Raptors; it was a relationship, based on mutual respect.”

There’s some indeterminate blustering from the four executives at that, but they evidently decide to ignore their ruffled feathers because Owen still has something they want. 

“Of course not” his colleague cuts in smoothly taking the reins “But what you must understand, Mr. Grady, is that the Indominus, indeed all of the dinosaurs, are a feat of scientific mastery and we would like to preserve them as such”

It’s then that Owen recognises the difference between the idiots at Ingen and the idiots at Masrani Incorporated.  Ingen want the research, sure, that’s why he signed on with them in the first place. But they want the capability too. He’s embarrassed to have ever been associated with them. Whereas Masrani Incorporated seem to have forgotten the ideals of their founder, for money.

“We need to send the recruits you have trained in, so that the animals may be sedated, contained, have the paddocks repaired and what have you so that we may better understand them, be better prepared. We’d like to hear your thoughts on this and request that you accompany the recruits. I understand that one your original Raptors survived, you dubbed it ‘Blue’ I believe. Surely with such sentimental value, you’d wish to see what became of it?”

Owen can’t believe his ears.  They want to send a bunch of newbies in to _contain_ _and study the dinosaurs._ And it doesn’t even matter if they’re hardcore Marines they’d still be newbies at dinosaurs. He can’t believe these people could be so stupid a third time. This can’t be what Simon Masrani or John Hammond had in mind. Not that they were in their right minds anyway, in Owen’s personal opinion, but that’s not the issue here.

“First of all” he spits out, hands balling into fists where they’re resting on his knees “Blue’s a girl not an it.” He stands, scowling down at them. “ _She’s_ clever, she’ll be just fine, I’m not her father for Christ’s sake” He is though. _He is. “_ Second, are you out of your goddamned minds?! What happened to the building barrier walls out at sea and declaring Islar Nublar a no-fly zone idea? The one that doesn’t involve sending me, sending other people’s kids to _die?”_

“The knowledge that could be garnered-“

“These creatures are still patented property, Mr. Grady and –“

“They’re living things, you idiots!” he’s in full flow now “You can’t control them; you can’t lock them up. _My_ research was never about control, it was about communication! You may have created them in a test tube but they don’t know that.  And they’re out now. You may have been able to lock up a couple of the original herbivores and personally I don’t even want to know how you took down that T-Rex the first time, but I sure as hell  won’t be part of any attempt to try that again. Quite frankly, _go fuck yourselves._ ”

They’re all sitting there staring at him. Though, if he’s not mistaken, the Intern’s looking at him with what appears to be sheer admiration. There’s a beat and then “According to the files, it was Ms. Dearing who handled the T-Rex during the Incident. Not you.”

Owen may look like a jock but he’s smarter than your average bear. His expression, when he realises what Fat Cat Weasel is insinuating is downright murderous. He stands, leaning across the table, like a panther stalking its prey, in full Alpha mode. “Claire’s a big girl and all, she can tell you this herself well enough. But let me make myself perfectly clear. If you even _suggest_ sending her back to that hellhole, let’s just say the Navy owes me a few favours and I will personally make sure that those dinosaurs are the least of your worries.”

“...Are you threatening us, Mr. Grady?”

“Oh, no. _I’m promising you_ ”

The tension in the room is crackling as Claire strides in, coming to a halt next to Owen, hand subtly coming up to press at his lower back, bringing him back. He wonders how much she heard.

“Gentleman” she greets them and all Owen wants is to fold her into his arms and breathe her in, forget everything else. But the concern that hangs around her, paired with her ashen pallor tells him there’s something more pressing at hand. “There’s been a development.” she announces coolly. This is her area, she’s completely in control and he wishes he didn’t find that so attractive because something’s telling him, he really needs to focus on what she’s saying.

The Corporate drones seem to come to life at little bit with Claire’s presence, puffing themselves up and preening in front of the beautiful redhead, which does nothing to assuage the red mist in front of Owen’s eyes.

“There’s been a sighting on Doctor Wu.”

The atmosphere in the room shifts instantly. This is what they’ve all be waiting for. Both Claire and Owen had continually demanded to know what was happening about tracking down Doctor Henry Wu ever since he (and the patented research) skipped off the Island to God knows where. Vic Hoskins, _that son of a bitch,_ was still screwing them over, even from beyond the grave.

“Where?” ask Owen and the Intern together. The young man’s voice grabs Owen’s attention for a minute, his brow furrows, trying to work out what interest the guy could have in Wu. It’s gone after a few seconds, giving Claire his undivided attention once more. This is too important. This can’t happen again.  Not after both Jurassic Park _and_ Jurassic World. The later incident had normalised dinosaurs before everything went nuclear and that’s what makes it worse. That’s what these idiots can’t understand, they’d had the illusion of control and that had given the general public the illusion of safety. Masrani always went around saying that ‘the key to a happy life is to realise you are never actually in control’  

But it seemed to Owen that knowing you weren’t really in control was the key to life in general.

“It’s been narrowed down to four potential locations. Worldwide.” Owen’s smile dies before it can be fully realised and he reaches behind himself to give Claire’s hand a squeeze but she pulls away before he can. His frown deepens before he remembers that they are supposed to be in their professional capacity right now and he might not give a damn about this particular aspect of his livelihood but Claire certainly does. Claire does the paperwork; Owen does the practical, that’s how their chemistry thrives.  

“Not to worry. No expense will be spared in finding Henry and returning him to the fold. Wu was recruited by John Hammond straight out of graduate school, why he would wish to be elsewhere is beyond me. Besides.  This is not what Mr. Hammond or Mr. Masrani would have wanted. We must heed their last wishes. We will _not_ lose this wealth of knowledge _and_ economy that these creatures could give us and see them be ruined by military meatheads.” one of the executives tacks on as an afterthought, “no offence” with a courteous nod at Owen.

“Offence taken” Owen growls at him.  “You think you’re doing what Masrani and Hammond would have wanted? You know, the events at Jurassic Park happened when I was 14. I thought that a dinosaur amusement park was the best idea I’d ever heard of. My old man thought it was the worst. Said that a dreamer like Hammond should’ve thought of a better idea for his money than to resurrect the most vicious creatures on the planet and put them together like they were puppies in a playpen. And now, at 36, I can’t get over how right he was. Why d’you think I insisted that the Raptors were kept separate? They were a pack, learning social skills, but none of us were ever dumb enough to think they could interact with the other species there.  The animals have had _months_ to establish their circle of life. You won’t be able to disrupt that now. Why d’you think the geneticists wouldn’t tell anyone what ingredients they used when they cooked up that dinosaur? Because the Indominus probably would’ve found sympathy with nearly every creature on that island once it calmed down enough and acclimatised to the world outside its paddock walls. We were just lucky the T-Rex still wanted to hold onto its title as the most deadly thing on Islar Nublar. A couple of dreamers like Hammond and Masrani should have listened to the experts not their fellow ideologists.”

He took a deep breath, hoping he’d made his point, suddenly aware of Claire’s hand hovering on his bicep, whether in restraint or support he’s not entirely sure.

“Very pretty” speaks up the oiliest, fattest cat in the room, who up until that point had remained silent. The intern, who keeps drawing Owen’s eye, is sat right next to him and gives his superior the side eye. The man gets up, strolling leisurely towards Owen, hands in pockets. This is his world and he obviously intends to ensure everyone remembers that. Owen knows when he’s being sized up and he’s well and truly not in the mood for this bullshit.

“But you have no experience in the Corporate world. Masrani and Hammond did, even though they had their heads in the clouds” he chuckles “You’re right about that. But they understood this side of the business, just like Ms. Dearing here” he winks at the lady in question.

It’s the wink that does it. Owen’s blood is past boiling point and he’s not a caveman, honestly, but he knows for a fact that this brand of moron is the oiliest, most chauvinistic pig on the board. His mother’s a Vanderbilt or something and he thinks that gives him the right to talk to everybody however he sees fit.  Walt Ogleby’s his name. They all need some good old common sense knocked into them. So that’s exactly what Owen does.  Live by example and all that jazz.

He hears Claire yell his name, feels her grab his arm once he’s delivered the blow that sends Ogleby sprawling, alongside the Intern’s gleefully whispered ‘thank you’ but he ignores them both. Instead he casts one last look at the idiot on the floor, fiery green eyes flicking up to look at each other man in turn “You wanna heed someone, heed Doctor Alan Grant.”

He strides towards the door, flings it open and shouts over his shoulder “Consider that my resignation”

Claire doesn’t follow him, nor does he expect her to. He sends her a text apologising that he made such a mess and then left her to clean it up alone. But he wasn’t sure how to follow that up. He feels like an ass for abandoning her but Claire can manage board meetings, says it’s a stress level she can handle, after saving lives and leading a T-Rex, it’s a walk in the park. Press conferences and interviews about the future of the company are another matter. She refuses to let Owen out her sight (they got separated by a reporter once and she had a near on panic attack) which given that three months ago she couldn’t stand him is a significant improvement. Instead, her nails make semi-permanent grooves in his palm half the time and the other half its only Owen’s hand at the small of her back that keeps her toeing the company line.

She doesn’t reply. He tries not to let that bother him, but it does.  Vivian became Claire’s PA upon return to the island and when she sees his bleeding knuckles in the corridor, she rushes for the first aid kit and surprisingly firmly, tells him to sit down, shut up and let her patch him up. Vivian says she’s sorry and he laughs it off, thanks her and promises they’ll all go out for a beer on Friday as he kisses her cheek goodbye. He goes home to the apartment, and it’s amazing that he actually has a home after being something of a lone wolf for so many years. Anyway, he goes home and plays his Xbox to distract himself from the fact that just blew the most challenging, and well paying job he’s ever had.

That’s what he gets for having morals.

Claire comes home brandishing a bottle of top shelf whiskey, drops her keys next to his in the bright little bowl by the door, kicks her heels at the wall and strides over to the kitchen and the overhead cabinet where they keep the tumblers.  He wanders over, Claire’s one of these quiet anger people, all glares, silence and insinuated threats from what he has seen at the six meetings they’ve attended together and the disagreements  they’ve had over vacuuming and milk so he’s not entirely sure what’s happening here and whether he’s pissed her off or not.

Leaning against the kitchen island he watches as she uncaps the bottle and pours a generous helping, then fetches ice. It reminds him strongly of last week’s tequila.  Because he’s sick of this dancing round each other crap, he promised himself he was done with it and he’s a glutton for punishment (he went straight from the Navy to dealing with dinosaurs of all things, he’s pretty sure he’s got issues other than PTSD to be honest), he just comes straight out with it.

“Are we fighting?”

Claire’s eyebrows shoot up “What? Where the hell d’you get that idea from?”

He gestures at the whiskey she’s holding “You’ve come home with expensive whiskey, and you’ve been on radio silence all day after the shit I pulled at the meeting. I’m taking a wild guess”

Claire puts down her glass and reaches down another, pours and hands it over “Thought you’d help yourself, sorry”

He stares at the glass she’s just pressed into his hands.

“We’re celebrating” Claire explains, a crooked smile blooming on her lips. His confusion only deepens “I’m fucking proud of you. Ogleby needed stitches, the son of a bitch” Claire holds her glass up to him “To taking no shit”

“Even though I did harm?” he asks in reply, clinking the glass against her own, unable to keep the smile off his face. Claire’s fighting a losing battle on that front but she just shrugs as she takes a sip.

“Have I told you lately that you’re the perfect woman?” he replies mildly, following her lead.

He grins and knocks back the whiskey which turns out to be a bit of a mistake because it scorches his throat (Claire really splashed out) but the warmth that it sends through his veins matches Claire’s laughter. She sets down her glass and moves closer to press her lips to his, chasing the last of the whiskey.

“Sending me to bed without dinner again does kinda send the wrong message baby”

“You love it”

Owen matches Claire’s smirk, pressing her back against the wall fast and rough so there’s not a sliver of daylight between them. His lips fasten to that one spot on the nub of her collarbone which he’d discovered the second time round. Sure enough, Claire mewls so prettily that Owen pins her wrists up and really goes to town, enjoying her writhing against him.  “ _Fuck. More_ ” she whines

“I don’t know” he whispers teasingly even as he nips at her skin, fighting the urge to mark her, especially where others can see. He may not be a caveman but he likes people to know that Claire has him. His mouth makes a trail up her throat until it stops just under her ear "A lady shouldn't swear" "Ladies swear they just enunciate fucking clearly" Claire retorts, shifting frustratingly in an attempt to gain more access, this makes him chuckle because even they're kicking off the dirty talk, Claire has to win. Although, given the way she's now pressing against him, the way she's moving her hips, Claire is already winning. Growling deep in his chest, Owen halts the movement by pinning her hips against the wall with his own, letting her feel his arousal through the fabric of the suit he still hasn't taken off. Claire's moans get louder (she'd again drunkenly confessed that him in a suit did things to her - and wasn't that a memorable taxi ride - so really he should start wearing them more) even as they are swallowed by his kisses whilst Owen works out the mechanics of her dress. It's purple and one of her favourites or else he wouldn't be so careful with it.

 

 

Their clothes seem to melt away their removed so quickly.  Claire’s wearing a deep blue  lacy lingerie set that Owen’s never seen before (she does the dishes, he does the laundry) that makes his mouth water. They may have finally caved to their desires but they haven’t had a chance to truly explore every angle, every position what will all the business crap that’s happened in the past week. Owen intends to take advantage of this moment of reprieve. Owen can't resist a smirk as he lifts onto the kitchen island. =Normally Owen finds sex with Claire in heels to be awesome but he’s glad she’s barefoot, enjoying the press of her soles into his hips as they move together. Claire responds by pulling him back against her as close as possible and then, when she's got him exactly where she wants him she starts attacking his belt, shoving the fabric out of the way in a way that makes him huff "Easy on the goods, darling" but she only kisses him, hot and fast as she palms him through the fabric whilst simultaneously trying to push the pants down with the other. Owen's hands join hers in the effort to free himself and when that's accomplished he reaches for her, intending to gather her up and continue this in the bedroom. Except Claire has other ideas, twisting out his hold for a moment to lean back on her elbows on the counter's grey marble top. "Wh-" Claire's eyes smoulder up at him as she simply asks "You coming?" Owen's brain wins the fight for blood long enough to work out what Claire's getting at. Its not like he's never thought of them having sex on every surface in the apartment but it was something he thought they'd work up to, particularly given his plan to romance Claire, not what they'd be doing in the second week of sleeping together. Claire's dirtier than he initially thought and fuck if that isn't a turn on. "In a minute I expect" he can't bite back the crude reply as he pulls her closer by the hips, thumbs rubbing over her hipbones as he lines himself up Claire's answering smile is a tad smug "Oh, I hope you'd last longer than a minute". The bark of laughter and the force of Owen's lips on hers as he pulls her up and flush against him once more tells Claire that she'll pay for that.

Afterwards, bracing himself on the countertop he grins down at her from the valley of her breasts and says “I should quit more often” and carries her into their bedroom before she can protest. They slip naked, not bothering with sleepwear or dinner, under the sheets, fitting into each other’s arms and are out like lights.

*****

Owen’s vaguely aware of Claire’s kiss on the cheek that signifies morning, just like he’s vaguely aware that he should get up and go to work too. Only he has nowhere to go. He works at the zoo every other day and alternative weekends so he could dedicate time to Ingen and the containment but given that he got rid of that particular job, he’s got nothing to do.

He’s lying alone in the bed pondering the meaning of life and wondering if he could convince Claire that they should get a dog - their just little furry raptors, really – though there is something to be said for the additional stress and noise to their otherwise peaceful domain – when the house phone trills from the living room.

It jolts him out of bed because he didn’t even know there _was_ a house phone, he and Claire live exclusively on their cell phones, but she must had had one installed back when she bought the place. He trips out of the tangle of bed sheets and sprints blindly down the corridor in the direction of the sound. As he runs round like a headless chicken he notices a stiff embossed card that looks suspiciously like an invitation on the coffee table, one of Claire’s bright green post-its (seriously the woman surprises him daily with exactly how organised she is) pressed to the top. 

He finds the phone tucked in an alcove round from the office, a silver cordless thing and snatches it up just as it goes to voicemail so it does that irritating thing where the pre-recorded message has already started.

_“Hello, you’ve reached Claire and Owen. We can’t come to the –“_

“Hello?” a man’s voice comes over the line once it stops, earthy and welcoming, down the phone, having realised someone actually is on the other end. “Hello?”

Owen returns the greeting on autopilot, struck dumb by the simple fact that his name is attached to Claire’s on the voicemail. That she bothered to change her recording to include him. He has no idea when she’s done it, especially since he’s never heard this phone ring before today but she’d integrated him even further into her life here, done one extra thing to make it theirs. Home.

 _We too shall be equally faced in poetry throughout the whole world, and our names shall always be linked, mine to yours._ The line comes to him suddenly, it's Ovid he thinks but he's not surprised because that's what comes of having a Classic Civilisations lecturer for a Mom. 

“Sorry, what?” he asks bluntly after a minute, having realised he hasn’t been paying attention to a word the guy’s been saying whilst he’s had this thought.

“I said” the man’s voice has the testy patience Owen remembers from his college professors, but there’s a hint of easiness there, like the guy remembers what it’s like and sympathises with his students. “Name’s Doctor Alan Grant. I got your number from Masrani Incorporated.”

Owen’s ears instantly prick up. Doctor Alan Grant?! His mind starts working a mile a minute trying to think why the hell Alan Grant, one of the greatest palaeontologists’ around and a survivor of the original Jurassic Park (part of him wonders if he’s going to get initated into some Jurassic Survivors ‘told you so’ Club. Another part of him wonders if Grant rang up exclusively to tell him ‘I told you so’) would call him for.

“I heard you recently lost your job with Masrani Inc”

“That’s a polite way of saying I told them to shove it”

Grant laughs heartily down the phone at that and counters “Yeah. I believe that’s a politer way of saying that your exact words were ‘go fuck yourselves’ and that they should have listened to me.”

Owen huffs; unsure where this is going.

“I appreciate that. It’s why I’d like you to meet me, say 2 o’clock today if you can. Since you don’t have Ingen to worry about and you’re not at your Zoo till tomorrow”

“How did you-“

Grant laughs again before reiterating the time and giving him an address, says he’ll explain everything and then hangs up, speechlessly.

So that’s why he’s sat drinking a coffee looking across from Grant at 2 o’clock at some facility tucked away on the outskirts of LA. The room they’re in is clearly Grant’s office; shelves brimming with books and piled on most of the surfaces, papers covering the desk like flour, various maps and charts on the walls. It’s like he’s walked into Indiana Jones office only the guy studied dinosaurs.

He says as much and Grant laughs, taking it as a compliment.  Owen’s got no idea why he’s here or what Grant’s even been doing for the past 22 years apart from opposing everything to do with Jurassic World.  “Gotta admit I’m surprised to find you round here. Last I heard you were at the University of Denver*. Worked in Montana.” That was years ago though, so God knows if that’s even accurate.

Grant looks impressed by the career awareness “No that’s absolutely right. Course” he coughs before continuing “once the Jurassic Park of 1993 happened it was all media and press conferences. Basically what you and Claire Dearing are going through right now. Even when I went back to the digs everything was different. Even academics weren’t that interested in the fossils when we had close to the real thing down in South America. It’s taken us a few years to revive the academic discussion, I can tell you. So I moved up here, better to keep an eye on Ingen, Masrani and even the odd stirrings from the Hammond Foundation “ he leans forward in his chair to put his own cup “Anyhow, the reason I asked you here is because I’ve got a proposal for you. A job offer.”

Owen’s eyebrows shoot up at that last bit “Really? Why? I mean I worked for the place you despised!” _Atta boy Owen, ruin the opportunity before you even know what it is._

Grant smiles at him, leaning across his mahogany desk “Exactly. I’d heard about you of course, even before the ah, Incident, the animal behaviour researcher turned Raptor Alpha, but it wasn’t until I hear what you did yesterday that I realised Ian” he sees Owen’s brow furrow at the name and clarifies “Ian Malcolm - was right about you.”

This is too much information all at once.  Ian Malcolm, one of the original survivors and another ‘are you all out of your minds’ campaigner, who is a bit of an asshole, according to Claire who met him once, recommended him to Grant for a position. “As what?”

“You of all people will know how palaeontology has changed in recent years. People aren’t interested in the academic guesswork of what those animals could have been like when they could go to a theme park and see bastardised versions for themselves.  The discussion’s turned to understanding them, whether they could survive not just in southern America but around the world in the locations they originally inhabited owing to differences in respective biology and ecosystems, seeing if the patterns we theorised about are correct or if they’ve adapted, how Ingen’s bridging of the sequence gaps has altered their capabilities, their behaviour. How different they are from the originals. That’s what I’ve been looking into the past decade or so. I’d like you to join us here, help with that.”

“Okay...so why me? You could’ve had anyone from Ingen or Masrani whose far better qualified to answer-“

“Ingen are a bunch of pigheaded idealists and Masrani aren’t much better. Besides you’re an animal behavioural researcher. Who could be better, particularly given your hands on experience? And, you’ve got a level head, you knew what to expect from that hybrid right from the off. I respect you, means I can work with you. Got a mean right hook apparently” Grant smirks at that last bit.

“How in the hell do you even know which hand I used to sock Ogleby one much less that I’d even done it?” _That’ll go down well in the papers._

Grant snorts, leans back in his chair and crosses his ankle over the opposite knee, like he’s considering something. “Friend of mine, Tim Murphy – has a position on the Masrani Board, he’s about your age, little younger. He was in the meeting, saw it all. And his sister Lex hacked the footage for me. Works for the CIA or something.”

Owen casts his mind back, trying to remember the name from amongst the Suits of yesterday and that’s when it hits him. “The Intern?!” He’d wondered why the kid was so vocal and now that he thinks about it, he didn’t see the guy taking minutes at all.

“Where’d you get that impression from? Tim and Lex are Hammond’s grandkids. Tim works here with me but as per Hammond’s will, Simon Masrani had to give Tim a position on his company’s board ‘in relation to all matters deemed to regard Jurassic World’. Simon may have known Hammond well but his own grandson knew him better. Tim tries to steer the place in keeping with the ideals of humility and safety. Lately they’ve been trying to lock him out what with Hammond and Simon both being dead, and frankly good luck to them. Simon’s will continues what John Hammond’s started – Tim stays on the board and everything Jurassic goes through him.”

Owen leans back, contemplating this development. He wonders if Claire knows Tim, knows that he’s on their side. Maybe there’s hope for everything after all.

“So, what do you say? You on board?”

The grin forming on Owen’s face could be stopped even if he wanted to, even though Grant’s words are eerily similar to Hoskin’s words three years previously. Ever since he came back to the States, everything’s felt like a whirlwind, a train he just can’t get off, like he’s not even got a hope of being in control. The PTSD, the nightmares, the morons at Corporate, the disastrous interviews and press conferences, paired with endless mobs whilst working at the Zoo (he’d hoped to keep a low profile but given his high profile position in the media right now, with hindsight that was something of a pipe dream because he was spotted by someone and now it’s never ending) everything’s just been one big long storm. And yet. And yet out of everything he and Claire managed to find their way to each other  much sooner than he’d hoped and now he gets to do what he loves with someone who despises Jurassic World as much as he does.

“Hell yes” He stands, as does Grant, they shake hands and he’s told to be there 10am Monday. As he drives home he calls the Zoo and thanks them for everything in the past month and a half but he’s out. His previous employer, a lovely if slightly odd lady called Barbara, tries to coax and berate him in turns into staying on but he simply hangs up. His reputation in the corporate world, once his actions over the past 24 hours get out will be shot to hell but he can’t find it in himself to care.  He’s got Claire, he’s got a job with _Alan Grant,_ an apartment and his Mom’s coming up in a month or two. Everything’s coming up Owen.

That is, until he reaches home.  It’s about half seven when he actually makes it through the apartment door, arms laden with a mixture of Chinese and Thai food from the joint down the block and the place is in complete darkness. This is not an unusual occurrence; Claire doesn’t make it back until 8pm some nights. He wanders in, flicking on lights as he goes and dumping the bags on the kitchen island, which after their celebrations last night; he can never look at the same way again.

“Claire?” she’s probably not back yet, but it’s worth a try. That’s when he sees the muted white light seeping from underneath her closed office door. He crosses the apartment and raps soft but smartly on the white wood in case she’s making a call or something, because she normally locks the door so he can’t disrupt her, “Claire?” he repeats.

Trying the handle does in fact successfully open the door. Owen sees that Claire’s desk light is on, illuminating the room with its bright, unforgiving glare. She’s crouched in the corner, face tearstained, with her back to him, one hand on top of her head from where’s she’s run her fingers through her hair and forgotten to complete the gesture halfway through, the other pressing her phone to hear ear like a life preserver. She’s shaking.

“But his motorcycle’s gone along with his keys and jacket and he always leaves a note to say where he’s going and I there was a message on the machine from the zoo saying he quit –“

Oh. _Oh shit._ Claire’s having an anxiety attack and from the sounds of it, it’s because of him. The old Claire would never had done something like this over a man but he knows he’s important to Claire and when it comes to her, he’s man enough to admit he’s a goner really. And what with his fast paced day he’d completely forgotten to leave anything or text her to let Claire know what was going on. This wouldn’t have bothered Claire before but now, now when they still see danger everywhere, she feels better knowing where he is and how to reach him at all times. That’s how she copes. Same goes for the boys, Karen, Scott and the rest of their friends. And he, stupidly, forgot that. First week as her boyfriend (and dear God, he’s someone’s boyfriend at 36, they need a better word for each other than that) and he’s already messed her around.  At least she called someone, which is a vast improvement from the last time he came home to find her like this, curled up in the corner of the bedroom in the dark. When she’s calmed down, she’ll realise she’s been illogical, that he wouldn’t up and leave like she thinks he has, but something’s primed this and then his absence, the lack of notification has set her off.

Whoever is on the other end, it sounds like a female voice, so it’s either Karen or Vivian, buzzes reassuringly down the line but Claire’s shaking a little as she says “What if something’s happened, what if he’s skipped town, no-one’s seen him all day and he was apologising for screwing up when he didn’t even _do_ anything and I thought last night it was fine and he was here when I left this morning, so maybe-“

He shouldn’t sneak up on her, that’ll only make it worse so he coughs and repeats her name again, gently to let her know she’s not alone in the room. Claire turns, face flushed, eyes wild and brimming with tears and his heart breaks a little at his Claire being like this.

Her expression goes from desperation and worry to relief. She cuts efficiently through whatever Karen/Vivian is burbling down the phone at her with “He’s here. I’ll have to call you back” and ends the call. Five seconds later she’s thrown herself into his arms, babbling nonsensical sentences, words tripping over the other; she had no idea where he was, why didn’t he call or come back, what had been going on was he alright. He just gathers close and soothes her, letting her get it out of her system. When she’s become calmer embarrassment and anger seem to have set in over the initial relief at seeing him. Claire asks the same questions once again but there’s coldness there, words snapping at him like raptor bites.

“Claire” he says her name for millionth time, placatingly, arms up in surrender, like with the raptors. Only she seems to realise this and snarls “I am not one of your damn raptors, Owen Grady. What the hell?!”

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry Claire. I didn’t think  I -”

“You were just gone! There was nothing anywhere and I thought – I thought you’d-“ she seems horrified by whatever it is she can’t get out. He thinks back over what he’d heard her say on the phone _‘what if he’s skipped town, no-one’s seen him all day and he kept apologising for screwing up’._ He had felt like a complete jackass even though she’d said she was proud of him and they had mindblowingly hot sex in the kitchen, she had spent most of the night and morning fielding calls from both Human Resources, the press and Public Relations wanting to know why Owen had resigned and why Walt Ogleby was seen storming out of Masrani Inc ten minutes later (he’d passed Owen in the corridor on his way out) with a bloody nose threatening to sue.

Claire had thought he’d left her. Out of all the insane notions to come up with, of all the things her anxiety and PTSD had come up with over the past two months, this was the worst. Because he’s in love with her, he’s pretty sure and that he would even contemplate it is completely insane. He later finds out from Karen, after he manages to convince her to stop yelling protectively down the phone at him, that when Claire was 23 she got left at the altar hence the never believing she would have kids and the whole workaholic thing. Abandonment issues basically. Which is what he’s guessing led to the anxiety attack.

Rug pulled out from under him. Again.

 

“And – just – with everything that’s happened... Simon’s dead and everything’s different now”

Owen carefully gets down on the carpet, folding his legs as he gets next to her on the floor. Sometimes he forgets just how much Claire puts on a brave face, even to him. It makes his heart ache “And I, I don’t know what I’m supposed to do sometimes – what I’m getting at is... I wouldn’t blame you. I know we – I know we said we’d stick together. For survival. But if Isla Nublar told me anything, it’s that survival really is for the fittest and I don’t wanna be an albatross round your neck.”

It’s all complete garbage and Owen wonders exactly what Claire’s gone through, whose created such doubts in her mind to spark this off today. But he’s also a Navy man, he understands PTSD and anxiety attacks; the worthlessness and the suddenness of them, not wanting to drag anyone down. Claire’s a survivor like him and they need to keep being survivors together. He won’t let this drown her.

“It’s funny how the world changes sometimes.” He reflects, voice calm and soothing, trying to pull her out of it “How the streets you’ve walked your entire life suddenly seem darker...colder. How the silence isn’t so quiet anymore. How eyes you’ve barely even noticed now look at nothing but you. How the walk home every night is no longer a routine but a victory. And then you begin to wonder, maybe it’s not the world that’s changed. Maybe it’s just you.” He takes her hand, interlaces their fingers and strokes her cheek softly with their joint hands.

Claire’s thought of that, thought that it was the way she saw the world, not actually the world itself that had changed. It’s nice to hear Owen confirm it though. The thing is, everything’s been going so well with them, Owen’s made such progress in just finding his way back to normal that she wanted to preserve it, just like she wanted to preserve the careful equilibrium they’d found initially. Owen was her safe harbour and she’d wanted things with him to stay good that what with all the stress, she hadn’t really opened up to him. Rookie mistake really.

 “Claire Mary Dearing. Eyes on me.” No teasing this time though as he forces her chin up to look at him, as he does every time this happens to Claire, his eyes scorching into hers as he speaks from where he kneels beside her. “I’m not going anywhere. There is _nothing,_ past or present I would put in front of you. You’ve got me, remember? I need you to see that” He cups her face, thumbs stroking her cheeks.

Claire’s eyes shine up at him and he hopes that his words are enough to break through the negative thought processes swirling around her brain and establish positive ones for her to build on. The worthlessness, the blackness that invades your heart, he knows all too well from his time in the Navy and he’ll be damned if he lets Claire succumb to it. She does look rather disbelieving and he can’t stand it so he kisses her, he kisses her to show that he needs her and wants her. They break apart and Claire gasps a little, like she’s just emerged from under water. Owen pulls his girlfriend (better word required definitely, she’s so much more, so much more important) into his lap and cuddles her close “I need **you”**

After a few minutes, Claire’s breathing slows from erratic gasps to gentle pulls on the air, fingers winding and unwinding in his shirt. As Claire calms, her stomach does a cute little gurgle which has her turning red to her roots and she looks up to see Owen smiling down at her. Yup, he definitely heard that because his smile has gone from cautious to amused “That shouldn’t be adorable” he murmurs. Owen slides Claire off his lap but keeps his hands on her waist, maintaining contact partially because he can’t help himself and partly because it calms her, hauling her with him as he stands up.

“I brought dinner. Chinese and Thai. We uh,” he scratches the back of his neck, ducking his head as he speaks “have something else to celebrate actually”

Claire’s eyebrows quirk up  in a mix of askance and interest at this piece of news  as she lets him lead her out of the office. “I’ll tell you over dinner. Hopefully it’s still warm” he adds and then immediately wishes he hadn’t. After an attack even the littlest things make Claire feel guilty, even though she has no reason to be in the first place. “You mind telling me what sparked that off? Babe?” he prompts her, eyes and voice incredibly gentle over the unpacking of the take out. Claire pads wordlessly over to the coffee table and retrieves the invitation he’d seen that morning, handing it over.

 

_Ms. Claire Dearing and Mr. Owen Grady_

_You are cordially invited as Guests of Honour at the_

_Jurassic World Victim Relief Foundation’s_

_Charity Ball_

It then gave the date, time and informed them it was black tie. Owen resists the urge to crumple the fancy parchment card in his fist. It makes sense that it’s addressed to them both, all his mail comes here, it’s no secret that they live together nor that they refuse to attend such events without the other, everyone already assumes they’re a couple.  It’s the assumption that they would touch the event with a ten foot pole he can’t get over. _What the fuck is wrong with these people?_

“We have to go” Claire announces as she meekly plates up the dinner.  This surprises Owen enough for a moment to snap him out of his thoughts about corporate morons, PTSD and real life experience.  As he sees Claire’s tear stained face he has to remind himself to rein in his anger. “What gives you that idea?” he asks, controlled and curious over the idea that she wants to attend a freaking ball of all things.

Claire takes a breath before replying. She knows it sounds mad, supporting such a thing much less attending, when the $800 a plate could just go towards the charity rather than some caterer but she’s thinking of Simon Masrani and what he would have wanted. “For Simon. All Simon wanted was to teach people humility. That last day, he told me the whole reason for the park was ‘to remind us how small we are, how new’. There are always going to be better ways to teach that rather than dinosaurs but I think it’s still valuable don’t you? After everything, we shouldn’t forget what Simon stood for, what he created that place for. It’s another opportunity to say what a mistake it was letting people see those things up close. Meddling with nature by creating new species.  And I’m trying to do everything I can to help them, this is just something else. Especially since I’m the reason this all happened.” Her explanation quiets Owen, right up until the last word.

“ **Those** **bastards at Corporate and Ingen are the reason this happened.** Not you. They’ve tried to pin it on you as front of house, but being the Media’s darling means you can’t be touched thank God. You got us out Claire. You saved us” Owen had hoped they’d reached the point where Claire would believe that when he said it. Although she was getting better, although they were getting better, Claire still needed the reminder every now and again.

“Thank you. But this isn’t about me, about us. We may be media darlings but if you don’t participate that’s when you’re publicly shunned. You want to make a difference, you want to get the public on our side we gotta go behind enemy lines and break them from within”

Seeing Owen’s face change as she voiced this logic, going from concern to confusion, then his eyes widened in understanding and finally a smile split across his face.  He may not fully support the idea of attending a _ball_ of all things but he understands where Claire’s coming from. “I knew I liked you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m not sure if I wrote the dealing with Claire’s panic accurately but I have mild PTSD and when I get anxiety attacks, that’s what pulls me back so I based it off that. A lot of Claire’s reasoning for why Owen would disappear is of course illogical but she’s meant to be having a panic/ anxiety attack so hopefully I got that across okay. 
> 
> Also part of Owen’s speech about ‘maybe it’s just you’ I got from a Roswell episode because it just fit so well.  
> *I got where Grant worked from the original Jurassic Park novel because all the wikia says is that he was on digs in Montana which also falls into book canon. I’ve bought the book and flicked through it for bonus info, like the fact that Hammond hired Wu right out of grad school and though there are major differences, little things like that I wanted to stick in. 
> 
> The Ovid line is indeed from Ovid and its Ovid Amores somewhere. 
> 
> As for the ending, Michael Crichton is a dark man. I mean just damn depressing not graphic really but yes I’m actually happy they changed things for the films.


	5. Without your kisses (I'll be needing stitches)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys I cannot apologise enough for the delay with this chapter. Life’s been a bit of a rollercoaster recently. ANYWAY. Here is some Clarwen goodness for you beauties. Thank you for sticking with me on this. The response to this story has been wonderful, better than I could have hoped. Thank you xxxx

Claire can’t believe she actually managed to convince Owen into attending the Gala, much less giving a speech at the damn thing. (Out of everything, that’s what he seems most chipper about. Claire’s only a smidgen worried about what that means.  A big smidgen) Apparently a contributing factor was that when Owen mentioned this ‘damn dumb idea’ to Dr Grant as they were discussing raptor growth rates and sibling behaviour with a focus on early childhood (Owen had come in and printed several old photos of his girls when they were little off his phone that night) and found to his surprise that Grant, Ian Malcolm, Ellie Sattler and the Murphy siblings had also all been invited and would be attending for exactly the reason Claire had given. So that nixed his particular argument. That, paired with Claire blowing him on the couch and promising to do that thing he liked, had resulted in Owen coming in last week with a new tuxedo in a garment bag slung over his shoulder.

One point to Claire.

It’s now the night of the Gala and Claire’s never felt so ill in her life. They’ve all been involved in a myriad of press events since the whole thing blew up; Barbara Walters, Jimmy Fallon (they both found that one really fun actually because Jimmy hardly touched on the worst of it, instead re-accounting his gyrosphere video), conferences and so on, each worse than the last. But this. Claire’s attended parties for both work and play, even the Opera once with an old boyfriend but not a Ball where everyone’s especially primped and squeezed and well to do. At least that’s her opinion. Especially not as a goddamn Guest of Honour of all things; even with Dr. Grant, Ellie Sattler, the Murphy’s (she’s only ever met Tim and that was for all of five minutes) and Ian Malcolm there as well, just as jaded as she is by the whole thing. Thank God for Owen. The thought of him never fails to bring a smile to her face, but this one is a bit brighter than usual, a trace of mirth lighting her eyes at the thought of Owen Sheldon Grady: Raptor Whisperer at a Ball. Owen belongs outside in his board shorts with his sinfully well fitting Henleys and his handkerchief with dirt under his fingernails. That was her Owen. _Not my Owen. Well. I don’t know._ Even nearly a month and a half after consummation...being together (she’s gotta stop re-watching _the Tudors_ ) they hadn’t actually defined the relationship. They just _were._ They hadn’t gone on dates or called each other boyfriend and girlfriend. They hadn’t had the time. It wasn’t that Claire minded this new homeostasis that they were in, being more, being together in a relationship with rumpled mornings and arguing over whose turn it was to clean the bathroom but Claire was worried that if they didn’t make it official the next paradigm shift might have a more destructive nature. That may be the anxiety talking but Claire saw danger everywhere now. The certainty she’d had about the world had shattered.

 _Not tonight._ She chided herself. Or should she? Claire looked at the clock on the living room fireplace. She could hear Owen burbling in the shower. It was 45 minutes till the Ball and it was half an hour drive.  All she could think about was what was going on with Owen. What the hell they were exactly....She had 15 minutes give or take. More than enough time to make a quick phone call.

******

So about five minutes later, Claire had dug her cell out of her clutch and was dialling her Dad’s cell.  She needed to voice her worries over the relationship in the hopes that his voice of reason would allay her fears and like always, he pulls through for her as he picks up. The thing about Paul Dearing is that he took no nonsense just like Claire herself, which is why whenever she wanted to talk about anything exceptionally serious; going to Harvard, the job at Jurassic World and even the more serious of her relationships (few and far between as they were) she spoke to her Dad. As much as she loves Karen and their Mom, they were both optimistic, very romantic people really which was great when she needed a pep talk but not when she wanted some sense talking into her. Owen had been doing a fantastic job about that so far, and he was a lot more local than Wisconsin but she really didn’t want to talk about her fears concerning Owen, _to Owen._  

_“Hey Claire Bear, to what do I owe this pleasure?”_

The last time she heard that, with Owen, gloriously naked above her and pressing her into the mattress makes Claire cringe at the same endearment now. She shakes her head, she _really_ can’t have that mental image right now. “Hi Dad, I just, well I just wanted to talk to you about something quickly”

 _“Uh, huh”_ her father had chuckled down the line “ _And whatever this is, I’m guessing you don’t want your mother to know about just yet, given the fact despite the time of night, you called my cell?_

Her Dad really did know her too well. Claire let her guilty laugh of admission answer that question before continuing “You know that guy I was on the Island with? Who helped me look for Zach and Gray?”

_“Ah yes, the Grady boy –“_

“Owen” Claire supplied automatically

 _“Owen, strapping Navy fellow, good with the boys, the son I never had?”_ Claire rolled her eyes. Owen and her Dad may have only met five minutes at the arrivals gate in the airport when Claire had been essentially tackled by her parents when the planes were flooding in from South America but Paul and Susan Dearing had taken an instant shine to him. Owen had managed to slip away to his own Mom and they’d met up later that week which is when Claire found out Owen had nowhere to go besides his hotel and had insisted he move in with her. The rest, as they say, is history.

 From the now regular phone calls Claire had now begun to make home, she had learned that her parents had grown even fonder of Owen after watching his interviews, particularly her Dad, so she wasn’t worried beyond the usual about them meeting now that she and Owen had moved to the next stage in their relationship. She just wished she knew what stage that was.

“That’s the one” she chuckled awkwardly, fingers curling nervously in a lock of hair, before announcing “Well we, um, we’re together now” Even at 33, Claire hated telling her parents she’d met someone. At least she knows they like him. The silence at the other end doesn’t support that claim but she suddenly hears her dad cheering on the other end and calling for his wife “Dad! Dad!” Claire shouted “I don’t want Mom to hear this next bit, so can you hang on a minute!”

“ _Oops. Sorry Claire Bear. Just nice to know you’ve got someone as down to earth as him is all_ ”

Claire smiles at that for a moment before continuing “It’s just – I don’t know what we are now. Before, before we were friends and roommates and now we’re...I don’t know if we’re dating  as such because we’ve never been on another date. We haven’t told any of our friends that we’re...whatever. He doesn’t call me his girlfriend or said that he loves me. He’s said he wants this, said he wouldn’t let anything happen to me but everybody says that when they’re starting out, I mean I believe him,  I just don’t know wh–“

Her Dad automatically cuts her off “ _Do you want him to? Relationships are difficult, I shouldn’t have to tell you this. Your sister, thankfully, is managing, or trying I guess, to work things out with Scott after Islar Nublar. You’ve got Owen now. Even the boys are closer. You’re all alive and despite that tragedy I’m glad you all came home safe and together.  But getting hurt, that’s still a possibility_.”Claire goes to tell him that she knows this, but he ignores her and keeps going _“You used to be a risk taker y’know. My brave little girl. You weren’t afraid of anything.  And then Fabian happened”_ Claire hears the way her father spits out her ex-fiance’s name _“And you became so organised, so driven with that new job, like focusing on work like that would keep you **safe”**  _

Claire finds she has to blink away tears as she listens because it’s all true.

“ _What I’m trying to get at, darling, is, the pleasure’s in the risk. Even just from the interviews I’ve seen it’s clear that boy thinks the world of you.  I think that Owen can handle himself pretty well and he can keep you safe sure enough. But safety and stability are two different things. That’s not who you are, that’s not what you want.  If it was you wouldn’t have taken a job working with honest to God dinosaurs. You don’t want a Prince Charming. You want a partner, someone you can take on the world with.  Owen can keep you safe but he’ll challenge you, make you question your beliefs. You, Claire Bear, you want a love that consumes you; you want passion, adventure and even a little bit of that danger you pretend not to miss. And that’s what I think Owen will give you. If you let him. But sounds like you might have to be the one to jump first here, love. He might be as scared as you – from what I’ve seen he’s tender with you. Even the Biggest Baddest people freak out sometimes. And the simplest way to do that is to **ask**.”_

Claire pulls the phone away, staring at the phone in her hand. That was brutal and brilliant. It ran in the family.

*****

They say their goodbyes and hang up with two minutes to spare. As the conversation with her Dad had deepened, she’d moved into her office and closed the door. When Owen came out, dressed hopefully because Claire had willpower but a wet Owen was always tempting, he’d see the door and know to wait until she opened it before coming in. He had knocked but she’d ignored it so he should be waiting in the living room. She felt better for calling her Dad and she would ask the whole ‘are you my boyfriend then?’ question but not tonight. They would have enough to deal with.

Claire tucked that annoying lock of hair behind her ear subconsciously, taking a breath before opening the door and stepping into the main space. Owen was waiting for her as she’d hoped. He had been leaning against the sofa which had its back to her office door, straightening his cuffs like freaking James Bond – and oh god, she does _not_ need that little fantasy dancing through her brain right now - his large frame obscuring the clean cut lines of the light grey fabric. Claire liked a lot of light colours for her home; white, grey, light blue and lilac because of the simplicity and the calm Zen like feelings the interior of her apartment gave her after a hectic day. Her wardrobe was much the same, to contrast with her vibrant, fiery hair.  Owen however, liked earthy warm colours in every aspect; rich browns, deep greens and sea blues. Tonight, Claire had gone against her usual choices and chosen a black strapless, backless silk gown with a pair of emeralds in her ears. The reason for this was that when Claire was little she hadn’t understood why she was the only one in the family with red hair and it worried her – she’d been told Grams had been a redhead, but given that her Grams’ hair was as white as milk by then Claire hadn’t believed a word of it – her mother has told that red hair paired with green eyes meant that she had witch’s blood. That had made her feel confident; to be magical _and_ unique.  Well tonight, Claire needs a little extra confidence.

As she stepped out and closed the door behind herself, Owen straightened and stepped closer. Claire, when she looked up laughed at Owen who was stood there with his mouth open. “You look beautiful.” He managed after a minute or so, closing the gap between them, placing his hands on her waist, bowing his head so that their foreheads met. As he did so, some of the tension seemed to drain right out of him, as it always did with the action. “We should do things your way more often”

Claire pulled back a little at his words, one eyebrow quirked upwards in askance which only served to make Owen’s grin grow as he murmured “sans board shorts”

“Oh?” Claire’s smile grew to match his “I definitely prefer you sans board shorts” she whispered back with mild crudeness that pretty much forced Owen to lean and snatch a kiss off those ruby lips, wondering what he did in a past life to earn a girl like Claire. As they parted and Claire put her hand on her hip, gesturing to invite him to link their arms together.

Owen did so laughingly, humming some little ditty to himself which made Claire’s brow furrow for less pleasant reasons than before. Missing out on a joke was something Claire had always hated but he only shook his head and gave her a kind smile, something indescribable twinkling in his eyes. “It’s nothing, baby. Let’s go”

It was only when they were strolling down from the lobby that Claire recognises Owen’s tune – its been driving her insane for the last 5 minutes trying to work out what the hell it was – as ‘ _The Wizard of Oz’_. When she elbows him sharply just before climbing into the stupidly fancy limo that was sent for them and hums it back at him pointedly that sets Owen off laughing again, that odd twinkle in his eye even brighter than before. Only this time Claire’s laughing with him.

xxxxx

The event, the Ball is...glittering. That may sound cliché of whatever but Owen has no other word for it. There are chandeliers and ball gowns (he’s never seen real women in honest to God ball gowns before) and when they walk in, he can’t help but move to wrap his arm protectively round Claire’s waist. It’s not just to shield her from any overly glaring attention, to establish himself as her Protector – not that she  needs one or anything for God’s sake, Claire scares the shit out him any day, but he has her back and won’t let anyone forget it – but also to anchor himself. He doesn’t know what it is, but she grounds him. They keep each other sane somehow, he knows what this may be, what he called this when he was around girls when he was younger but it feels weightier somehow, more serious....

As Owen’s processing his emotional growth, Claire gives a little swallow and like hell she’s ever been a shrinking violet. Her chin juts out, shoulders go back and her red lips pull back in a daring smile. Giving Owen’s fingers a tender squeeze, she makes a triumphant sort of noise as she sees Alan talking to Barry and Lowery and strides off to start the socialising. It takes Owen a second to realise she’s no longer with him and he’d better jump to it or he’ll get noticeably left behind. Claire’s dress flared behind her in a way that reminded Owen strangely off a – rather glamorous and sexy – witch, and he caught a glimpse of the red backs of her heels. They had a special name, those red backed shoes but he couldn’t remember them.  Christina something or other.

Claire is utterly bewitching. And Owen is not the only one who’s noticed. Claire is of course, completely oblivious to the effect she’s having but Owen is not. Eyes are drawn to the striding woman with the flashing smile. There’s a wave of whispers, head turns and mouths covered by hands. Overall, the effect on the room is hardly subtle and after a minute or so, Claire appears to twig. The bravado she has just been exhibiting seems to settle, rather than disappear. This is both the new and the old Claire, really. Old Claire who could sashay into these type of events as if she belonged there, as if these were her guests, yet she was always exceptionally deferential to the actual host; Simon Masrani or whoever. Owen used to think (on the three occasions they happened to be invited to the same work related parties that this was some pathetic form of sucking up and kissing ass as it were) Now, on the other side of the looking glass, he sees it for the careful networking it is. Claire needs these people on her side, on their side, especially in something so crucially important as victim and animal support and prevention. They cannot allow anything like this to ever happen again and he’ll be damned if they don’t do their utmost to stop every ignorant son of a bitch here from investing in Ingen. It was the general opinion that Owen was at an advantage here. He and Barry had worked for the bastards so, as long as they worded it right so that it didn’t come across as bitter or anything, they ought to be perfectly placed to convince.

Watching Claire ignites something in Owen (it always does, though this is somehow different), watching Claire _right now_ Owen feels the familiar surge of protectiveness that always emerges whenever she has or is caused any lapse of confidence because for God’s sake, he doesn’t know how many times he can say it, but the woman saved his life and all those people on that prehistoric infested (Raptors exempted) hellhole. That should give her confidence for life and yet it doesn’t because she is being judged by people who can have no notion at all of what it was like. It makes him angry because 1) Claire was running on adrenalin the whole time, he wishes they’d actually realise she was human and just because her ‘fight’ and ‘flight’ instinct kicked in at the appropriate moments does not make her a cold hearted bitch and 2) he’s actually mad at Claire because she’s _letting it affect her._ Owen and their friends and family can only bolster her so much.

But there’s something else too. He’d almost call it possessiveness, but it doesn’t feel like it, more like jealousy. Owen walks over to Claire, integrating himself seamlessly amongst their friends, not really listening to the light chitchat as they are handed flutes of champagne, as he tries to unravel what he’s feeling. Owen may be a man of action but he _is_ an animal behaviouralist. Humans are mammals therefore the basic patterns ought to translate. _He’s gotta eat, he’s gotta hunt, he’s gotta...._ after all. _So what is this feeling?_

Somewhere his subconscious recognises the pop culture reference and he’d rather die right here than start singing _Wicked_ – he took his Mom to see it on Broadway for Christmas once when he was home on leave and thoroughly enjoyed himself but the well to do of Los Angeles don’t need to know that.

Owen’s arm hovers near Claire’s waist and he’s so wrapped up in his own thoughts that he doesn’t realise she’s gently leaned into his touch and closed the gap until he feels the shock of the warm bare skin of her hand on his, pressing it into the bend of her waist that something seems to click. It feels right, deep down in his bones.

Owen’s not one to think about the L word too much. He’s told women he’s loved them before, when he was young and thought that was what was required of him or that that was what love was. But now...he and Claire have chemistry. They work on a deeply basic level. He wants her and she wants him and they do the stuff that couples do together but... _but what_ his consciousness argues back. Owen wonders why he’s trying to fault this, trying to pick a hole in this thing they have going, that they have built out the ashes of that old life. It’s then that Owen realises he’s answered his own question, because eventually everything he’s every known has turned to ash and the events of Isla Nublar are just part of the line. He doesn’t want to get burned again, self preservation is what Owen is best at after all. But he especially doesn’t want to burn Claire. He’d rather face the Indominus all alone once again than let anything, even himself, hurt his Claire.

 _His Claire._ That’s when it hits him, when Owen’s head catches up with his heart. Jesus Christ, how for her, wanted her, wanted a relationship with her. But he’s never loved someone this quickly, honest to god, head over heels like this, for Pete’s sake, he’s _Owen._

_I am always tripping over that woman’s heels though._

Chuckling at his own sense of humour, Owen gathers Claire a little closer, presses a kiss to her hair and if she looks up at him in askance for a moment he’s none the wiser. Owen’s certain there were less people around them a minute ago before realising that the other, original, survivors come over to introduce themselves properly. When Alan and Claire greet each other, Owen earns a glance from Alan which he’ll have to ask his mentor/boss (when the hell did he gain a mentor figure anyway?) about later but other than that they get along just fine. Better than he and Claire did when they first met, which Claire seems to be thinking about as well, on this weird wavelength they occasionally share – _that’s what couples do moron,_ Owen accosts himself – and she says as much, cracking some terrible joke about how Masrani hired the wrong raptor expert.

The serenity of their little group doesn’t last long. Tim nods pointedly to the other end of the ballroom, away from the dance floor and the cluster of tables to the sizeable stage. A man and woman have appeared up there. The guy, Owen can’t make out his face too well from their position at the back of the room (as close to the door as possible without looking as if they’re all about to make a break for it), is a bit Ryan Seacrest in appearance, although both he and his companion in her glittering red dress, black curls pinned so that they tumble down one shoulder look for all the world a little too chipper for a charity ball for the victims of a dinosaur massacre. Beside him, Owen feels Claire tense and realises that, even though that woman probably looks nothing like Zara, from this distance the resemblance is close enough for the onslaught of guilt to set in. He wants nothing more than to take her out of here, he _knew_ this thing would be a stupid idea, but he always knows Claire would kill him if he tried it, so instead he just presses a kiss to her hair again.

“Oh here we friggin’ go” mutters Tim, giving the presenters, who from the way they’re smiling and the style of their clothes look like they’re presenting the Oscars, the evil eye. That’s when they spot the autocue machine and the cameras which have appeared as if by magic. _Its gunna be televised. Outstanding._

Claire tries hard to keep the look of attention on her face which grows more and more mask like as Freddie and Gloria – who she hears Ian Malcolm quietly snigger are surely fucking given their behaviour, dear God she’s never liked him – prattle on. She doesn’t even know who the work for, Masrani Inc, Hammond Foundation or heaven forbid Ingen, but they’re talking as if they personally knew Simon and Richard, about Richard’s singular vision, Simon’s compassionate dedication and the tragedies that took place on the island. Claire finds she can’t listen to this complete disgraceful insult to the idealism and humility and the memories of all who died that she’s about to begin edging towards the bathroom when she feels someone grab her elbow. She looks up to see Dr. Ellie Sattler Reiman who catches her eye for a minute before murmuring softly “I know Claire, but they’re gunna cut to us in a minute and we can set the record straight, all of us” Claire’s eyebrows go up and then she nods, taking in the determined hard expression on Ellie’s face. Hadn’t she herself told Owen that if they wanted to sort out this catastrophe they had to play the part until they got a chance to speak?

Walking out whilst the idiots spouted their corporate drivel, drivel she herself had been spouting until recently Claire cringed to remember, _would_ show her disapproval of the matter but it would also remove her involvement. What they needed to do was bide their time and then speak out when given the opportunity. Then they would have media backing, protection even. Silence about personal views of the shit storm aftermath had protected her and Owen so far and now it was time to break cover. But they weren’t alone. It wouldn’t just be Owen and herself speaking, there would be Alan, Lex, Tim, Malcolm, Ellie, Malcolm’s wife Sarah and daughter Kelly, Nick Van Owen there too, though she’d only exchanged nods and disgusted glances with the latter. Safety in numbers and all that jazz. She could only thank God the boys weren’t being exposed to this circus _. Hopefully, this kinda of crap won’t happen if we get our way_ and how happy she was to say we, _there’ll be all the support for the victims without any of the hypocrisy_.

Lost in her own thoughts, Claire misses their introduction, only hearing applause and then recognising the sensation of Owen’s hand in hers, dwarfing her fingers with his own massive ones as he tugs her towards the stage. The Skeptical Survivors group as she’s taken to calling them in her head troop towards the stage, discarding champagne glasses as they go. Owen and Alan take the initiative to act as spokesman and join Freddie and Gloria on stage whilst the others wait at the front of the audience. The two hosts thankfully bow out quite literally, both scuttling off to the corner of the hotel’s grand stage, passing their microphones off as they go. As Gloria presses the device into Owen’s hands he doesn’t fail to notice the way her eyes flit up to his flirtatiously from under her lashes. The breathy tone her bubblegum voice takes as she wishes him ‘good luck’. If Owen wasn’t with Claire, moreover, if he wasn’t in love with her (he’s admitted it to himself so he might as well get used to it so he can y’know...admit it to her) then he might consider trying his luck so to speak for an evening  with Gloria. She’s curvy with glossy black hair, red lips matching her backless sparkling gown that shows just a touch too much cleavage. But instead of a wink and a whispered line, he gives her a brief smile before looking out into the crowd to catch Claire’s eye from where she’s stood amongst the others right at the front. It’s Claire who gets the wink, Claire he’ll take to bed when this is all over; undressing her like Christmas morning and making her come undone beneath him before he tells her that he loves her. And he’ll take her out on a second date this week. Their lawyers had said that if they did this event then it ought to calm down for them. For a while at least. And he owed the Lady a proper date. For a moment, Owen got completely sidetracked, wondering briefly if when you went out with someone for the second time around the first date was classed as that or whether it was the second date? Especially given that they’d never had a second date the first time around. Shaking his head to clear it Owen coughed, suddenly aware of the fact that he really needed to get his head in the game, of the fact that Alan was giving him the side eye and Claire’s encouraging expression had turned to one of concern. Not to mention the couple hundred people all waiting for him to speak.

_Batter UP._

This had become a problem of late for Owen; spacing out or retreating into his own mind and not realising how much time had actually passed. Apart from the fact that it happened frequently it was also really annoying. “So we appeared to have been the ones volunteered as tributes” Owen plasters on his winning smile and claps his hand on Alan’s shoulders before continuing “It’s just you and me Katniss” Grant looks at him like he’s high on something but it does get a laugh. “Anyway, in all seriousness, everyone, the others and I have talked about this event a lot since receiving the invitations. And, on behalf of everyone I’d like to say how happy we are that there is a victim support movement and the fact that we get to weigh in about the support the victims is an opportunity, I gotta be honest, I didn’t think we’d get. An opportunity to speak not about what happened. About what we went through, our shared experiences. Nah, this, this is about our shared hopes.”

 And that’s when he and Alan share a glance which quickly morphs into twin grins. Claire tells him later it was a bit like a pair of evil Cheshire Cats. Owen gives a bit of a staged cough before continuing, eyes scanning the crowd, including them all, making sure that they know that this speech is especially for them. Then he turns directly towards the cameras, he doesn’t know if this will be broadcast live or if what he’s about to say will be edited and twisted out of all recognition. But this is their shot, the first time they’ve all be together at a public event.  

“You didn’t listen to Dr. Grant and the other original survivors when this shit originally kicked off. And so far you haven’t asked myself or Ms Dearing about our personal opinions. So here it is. I’m not gunna sit here and tear down Hammond and Masrani’s dreams of humility and understanding. That is why I joined the venture, aside from the opportunity to work with and understand those creatures. You’re doing a particularly good job of insulting their memories yourselves. No. For god’s sake I mean, are you serious? Spending...what was it, $900 a plate on a meal when it could go to the relief fund instead of our stomachs? It could fund research to save the lives of people who were mauled and bitten by creatures that still need to be studied. Compensation, pensions, bereavement not militarisation and containment and re-opening the Park. Or...how about finding Henry Wu, that snake whose never looked beyond his own nose long enough to see the damage he could do? The research and the tissue samples he has? If he’s not stopped this whole dance is gunna start all over again.” Owen pauses, hearing the gasps sweep the room. Henry Wu’s involvement with Jurassic World was well known and his disappearance and the fact that the containment may not be as watertight apparently wasn’t public knowledge.

_Woops._

“Think about what that could mean. More death, more destruction. And when they look into who supported it, they’ll be seeing your names on the investment portfolio. Anyway, we just wanted to remind you of your obligation not to fuck up again. Your move.”

Alan claps him on the shoulder again, whispering in his ear “Maybe ease up on the swearing next time son”  before beginning to clap. The others follow his lead and eventually it spreads around the room; some are evidently doing it from politeness, whilst others, thank merciful God, do appear to agree with him. But at that moment; Owen really doesn’t care. After scanning the crowd, his eyes find Claire’s determined to share this moment with _her._ The green orbs are shining; and god damn if she doesn’t look proud and that’s when he knows that he’s said the right thing. With a grin on par with hers, Owen strides to the lip of the stage, drops the microphone – which, in hindsight, he really should of done after he’d finished talking, he’ll have to remember that for next time and put his arms out for her, in order to lift the woman he loves up on stage and share their relationship with the world; wanting everyone to know that they belong together.

And that’s when everything explodes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I KNOW I'M HORRIBLE, ALL THAT WAITING AND THEN THAT  
> Though in my defence, even I didn't know I was going to do that till I did it. Love you all (jumps on motorcycle and speeds away)


	6. Wounded

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Friends, I was very hesitant to post this chapter, due to the recent heart-breaking events around the world in November 2015 despite the fact that this was mostly written back in mid-October. The delay was due to editing because I’ve tried to write such material as sensitively as possible and the fact that my internet was gone for about three weeks. Again.  
> As such, although I have not changed the course of this story, I have tried to write this with great care. My thoughts and prayers are with everyone affected and I dedicate this chapter to everyone particularly all those who, during the various crises showed the strength, courage and kindness of human spirit. 
> 
> ‘Now the pain we all feel, reminds me... reminds us. That though we may come from different places, and speak in different tongues. Our hearts beat as one.’

It was flour.

The bastards had thrown flour all around the kitchen and once airborne near a flame the stuff becomes like dynamite.

Owen had long held onto the belief that it’s messy to have other people in your life. Humans are an overrated species. Such thoughts have got him through several messy patches in his life, ugly periods where his faith had dwindled, appalled by the stupidity of humanity. But now he has a home, an extended and interfering family and like his mom always used to say “Life is the messy bits”. So he’ll take this, messy bits and all. Even if this, at that particular moment was classified as a real explosion.

The blast had come from behind him, where the kitchen was obviously located, flinging himself, Alan and the presenters across the room. His ears are ringing, there’s fire and soot and traces of the damned white powder all over, rubble though it was not so bad that the electric’s gone. Owen’s a marine, he’s not accustomed to explosions but he has become able to tamp down on the shock and disorientation long enough to remove himself and his teammates from danger, and then deal with it. He did it in the marines and he did it in Jurassic World and he’ll have to do it now. It’s not emotionally healthy, and Owen has had proof of that again and again but he’ll be damned before he doesn’t do…well do his damnedest to assist in a crisis and let his emotions stop him.

 People are screaming, crying, running every which way. Well, not everyone. Several others including their friends, that he can see anyhow, despite the fact that they were at the brunt of the explosion and hence are covered in various shades of muck and a variety of scrapes, Malcolm’s leg looks pretty nasty, poor bastard, have been through similar crap before and the adrenalin’s kicked in. They appear to have had a similar thought process to himself. There’s at least three people calling 911. Ellie, Sarah and Kelly have ripped fire extinguishers from the walls. Tim and Lex Murphy with teamwork reminiscent of Zach and Gray, have plunged into the thick of it, getting the doors open and people out, yelling for the more able to help the wounded. Lowery, Viv and her boyfriend are helping and Owen ticks them off his list.

Owen stares at the hole in the wall and can see that whilst its big, and caused significant damage, that was to the people themselves, the actual thing itself was cosmetic mainly and there was no actual structural damage. Owen immediately begins to move across the room towards the wreckage and then stops. _Claire._ Tim, Lex, Malcolm, Sarah, Kelly, Ellie, Nick, Billy and Alan are among the people he can see.  No Claire in sight. The pit drops out of Owen’s stomach and he scans the room even more frantically. He can’t see that singular slightly curled bob of red anywhere. It mildly dawns on Owen that his name is among the screams. Then Nick is in front of him, shaking his shoulder “Owen! Owen! Man, come on. Owen! We gotta go, **now!”**

“Claire” he finds his voice, heart well and truly in his mouth and screaming for the world to hear “Claire”. And Nick, God bless him, Owen’s gotta remember to buy the man some big fat cigars after this, starts swearing and looking round for the redhead. Nick confesses later that he’d assumed Claire had gotten herself out and then remembered that neither of them would leave without the other.  They start to scour the wreckage together, pulling people up and urging them towards the door as they go before after what feels like years Owen hears Nick shout “Here! Here!”

Sprinting over, Owen sees Nick standing over a slab of rubble. _No. Christ, no._ Because it is Claire, lying on her stomach, normally autumnal locks covered in dust and flour, the rubble on her back and trapping one of her legs. For one, agonising, sickly moment he thinks they’re too late but then he sees the movement of her head, the twitching of her leg, constricted by the rubble and hears her croaking for help, hardly audible over the cacophony of noise around them. The weight on her is affecting her lungs. Both men spring into action; Nick grabs her legs – which he also admits later, was in hindsight a really bad idea because in her disorientated state, Claire doesn’t realise this is aid and lashes out to retain her freedom, one of her heels catching Nick in the throat.

Owen scrambles to get next to the front of her head to garner her attention. The relief in her eyes that she’s been found, that it’s him is evident by the tears that begin to form. “Claire, honey it’s okay, we’re gunna get you out. It’s just Nick, he’s gunna free your legs and then we’re gunna get this off of you” she tries to speak but it comes out in huffed fragments so he shushes her “As much as I’m gunna enjoy playing Doctors and Nurses with you, don’t talk baby, it’ll only make it worse.”

Claire’s frame shakes and then she groans and just as he’s about to start panicking, he realises she’s laughing.  Claire lies still, enabling Nick to remove the steel and concrete restricting her legs and then the two of them start to lift the main slab. It’s heavier than it looks, and Owen sends up a quick prayer that Claire isn’t bleeding internally. It’s horrifically concerning because if either of them loses their hold or buckles under the weight, Claire will be the one to suffer. As their pulling, Owen notices several arms and hands coming alongside his and looks to see several others; guests and staff, men and women alike who have come to their aid. Catching a young waitress’ eye Owen can’t help but flash her a smile, thinking that sometimes having faith in people isn’t that terrible after all.

Soon Claire is free enough to roll out from underneath the concrete and her breathing is far more relieved, and their helpers disperse. Nick hovers at Owen’s shoulder as he checks his…Claire over and apart from some nasty looking scrapes on her back, any wounds are thankfully cosmetic. Once Claire is upright, she starts to get slightly hysterical, which for Claire is very controlled, odd sobs. Her head whips round the room and Owen knows her well enough by now to know that this is both an assessment and a head count. Her shoulders loosen under his hands as she sees that the vast majority of guests have made it out by now, even those that remain are by the doors, urging the stragglers to hurry the hell up. “Claire, honey, Nick’s gunna take you to the hospital”

Claire nods at Nick - who's raised his eyebrows at this development, almost starting to walk away when she cottons on to the subtext of Owen’s declaration “And what will you be doing?”

Again, Owen knows better than to say anything when Claire uses the tone of voice she is currently employing, feeling safer in simply returning her gaze wordlessly, waiting for Nick to back him up. Which apparently Nick has no intention of doing. Fuck the cigars then.

“We haven’t got time for this, Claire, the explosion might have been cosmetic but it was no accident, the sons of bitches who did this-“

“Can’t have got far. I agree. Let’s go. And spare me the crap about running in heels”

Owen’s hands slipped from his hips at her words. He could forcibly carry Claire out of the building into an ambulance. He should, he should be a good boyfriend and go with her to the hospital. This is not the Island, they do not have to limp on for survival. But this is Claire Dearing. And if she says she’s coming with him he knows she’s damn well coming with him, injury or no.

Owen sighs knowing he’ll regret this, already totting up the angry relatives he’ll get phone calls off, he holds out his hand. “I’m in charge Claire. I mean it, this is coming from a Marine. Whatever I say, do it”

Claire nods, knowing that this a point that Owen will not budge on and as on the Island, situations like this are his territory and they take off across the ballroom, clamber over the rubble and within 5 minutes are sliding down into the kitchen. It is only when Claire hears rubble moving and turns to look that she realises Nick has wordlessly followed them.

Any clues as to the perpetrators are gone judging from the state of the kitchen so the trio dashed through the kitchen and Claire’s energy gave Owen hope that her injuries were not as serious as he’d originally feared. It’s when they get through the end door that leads to the alley outside that Eddie notices a guy stood in the shadows down the alley, enthusiastically snapping photos of the ruined building, the people running and muttering happily to himself.

“Hey!” Nick’s booming shout echoes off the bricks as the man himself charges at the photographer, tackles him successfully and manages to keep him pinned. Owen tells Claire to stay back as he may not be alone particularly since she’s in no condition to fight and runs to catch up with the two other men yelling at Nick for being a moron because 'Which one of us was in the Forces again?! You're a Nature photographer, where's you sense of self-fucking preservation' since the guy could be armed.

Thankfully, he isn’t, armed or accompanied. He also cracks easily under questioning (including getting kicked in the gut more than once by a seriously angry Owen and Eddie nearly smashing his nose in) and reveals, bloody nose dripping and eyes that'll swell up like no tomorrow that there were 4 people involved and the flour explosion was meant to be cosmetic in purpose. They hadn't meant for anyone to get hurt. Owen makes sure his nose is broken after that.

“He’s an activist” Owen informs Claire as he rejoins her by what’s left of the blackened kitchen door “They wanted to ruin the gala tonight – no intent to kill – not that this makes this any better – pure shock value and his job was to stay behind and get evidence, hence the camera. Stop the benefit for some reason, started rabbiting on about his beliefs and the environment and dinosaur rights than why they attacked innocent people”

“Why?” Claire turns to see the activist being muscled back down the alley towards the cop cars sirens they can hear down the other end of the street at the front of the building “Why?”

The man mumbles something about Ingen, Masrani and Hammond and self-righteousness so Claire pointedly stops listening to the outright crap he’s spewing to tell him that the only self-righteous one is him and that there’ll be lots of publicity in prison.

Taking it as their cue, Owen and Nick proceed to force the bastard to keep walking until they reach the squadron of cop cars on the bright street. It’s not until the man is out of sight being hauled off to the station that Claire feels able to breathe once more. She and Owen blindly reach for one another, she has no idea how he is handling this but all Claire cares to know is that they are alive, that everyone is alive thank fucking God and to bury herself in Owen’s shoulder, wanting to lose herself in his scent.

Owen just holds her and neither of them speak but all too soon he is moving her, nearly carrying her away, muttering something of a farewell to Nick. In return Nick shrugs, telling them that that's what friends are for. When Claire tries to protest, asking about the others Owen bends low to whisper in her ear “Cameras. And you **need** a hospital.” Turning her head, grunting as she ignores the pain in her side, Claire spots the fresh media entourage. Owen is right, their presence here, especially as the newest survivors of a Jurassic related incident will only escalate things. A few minutes later, Owen is banging on the side of an ambulance then lifts Claire into the belly of the vehicle and onto a gurney. As she lies there, letting the paramedics bandage her up, Claire keeps a tight grip on Owen’s hand. Nick clambers in a few minutes later, loudly telling the reporters to take a hike before shutting the doors behind him.

There's a beat, as the three of them take each other in, a moment of just feeling life buzzing through them. Nick leans forward and eases those red backed shoes off Claire's feet, muttering something about how Sarah hadn't been kidding about Claire and heels. Claire manages a tired smile, before her eyes find Owen. As long as he's in her sights, she can breathe easy.

He presses a kiss to the back of her hand “Those idiots won’t get away with this Claire, I promise.”

 _No_ Claire thinks grimly, already planning the phone calls she’s going to make tomorrow morning, _they won’t._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will say I don’t condone Claire’s choice to run whilst injured but I made the choice for the character to add to the story. Obviously if anyone suffers injury, medical attention is your first port of call asap. This was a difficult chapter to write but the fic will be moving onto bluer skies now.

**Author's Note:**

> If you like what I'm doing here please, please with Owen Grady on top leave some kudos xxxx


End file.
